


False Pretenses

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alien Culture, Dancing, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Formalwear, Mission Fic, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 13:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20930801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: Michael looked at her sleep pants and frowned. "Is this what people in a relationship wear to sleep?" she asked, holding them up.Tilly didn't look. "Okay, but you're pretending to be the captain'sgirlfriend," she said, apparently still caught on that.Michael swallowed, putting the sleep pants inside the bag. She supposed she should be herself, if only to make the role easier to inhabit. "It's just a mission, Tilly."





	False Pretenses

**Author's Note:**

> The problem with the fake dating trope is that it requires a plot. What was I thinking? Someone should have stopped me. 
> 
> Also, gonna warn for animal harm in this one. Alien animals I totally made up, but if that’s going to upset you, exercise caution. Additionally posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1041988.html).

Michael nodded to Pike as she joined him in the turbolift, both headed to the bridge. He was bright-eyed and well-rested, ready for the day, like he couldn't wait to see what it had in store. She wished she didn't find that so compelling. 

She searched for something to distract her from her distraction. "Any update on the black cluster?"

Pike shook his head. "Nothing conclusive. Given the nebula's unique characteristics, we can't even tell if we're sensing the traces of a red angel signal or some other kind of energy burst entirely."

Before he could go on, the whole turbolift pitched and rolled, sending Michael sprawling into Pike. He braced himself and caught her, arm going around her waist, hand landing on her hip, keeping her from losing her footing. One part of her appreciated that; the other was busy cataloguing the feeling of his body against hers, the heat now spiraling through her. 

The wave finally passed, Pike looking down at her, dry: "Then there's that."

Michael cleared her throat and stepped away from his grasp, nodding in thanks, trying to keep her face blank. "At least the gravitational waves have lessened in frequency," she offered.

"Small mercies, I suppose," he said, watching her with a curious tilt to his head. 

Thankfully the turbolift slowed and opened onto the bridge, Michael making a quick escape to her station. Pike took Saru's place in the captain's chair with a nod. "Morning, everyone," he said, easy and kind. 

The crew responded, welcoming, and it sent a different kind of warmth through Michael, some kind of belonging settling in her. Pike had been so readily accepted into the crew, his openness defusing much of their distrust. Something about it soothed _Michael_, like his acceptance into the fold affected her. Which it didn't. At all. 

She decided not to think about that. 

Activity at the communications station got her attention, Bryce looking over at Pike. "Admiral Cornwell for you, sir."

"Put her on screen." Pike stood, facing the viewscreen as Admiral Cornwell's image appeared. 

She nodded in greeting. "Sorry to pull focus here, Chris."

"What can we do for you, Admiral?"

"You still going nowhere slowly?" she asked, blunt as she usually was. 

"The search for the signals has hit a bit of a wall," he said with a half-shrug.

"Good."

"Really?" he asked, disbelief in his voice. 

"For what I'm about to throw at you, yes," she said, serious. "Starfleet has gotten wind of a new weapon for sale, rumored to be something no one has ever seen before."

"A weapon for _sale_?" Pike asked, the note of alarm in his voice echoing the uptick in Michael's own heart rate. That was a bad sign. 

"As if we didn't have enough to worry about." Cornwell shook her head, like she saw way too much and wished she didn't. "But the Cantarans aren't part of the Federation; they don't play by our rules. Whatever it is, they're putting it on the market and inviting various parties to bid."

"And the Federation wants in," Pike guessed, seeing where this was going.

"If we can secure the weapon, all the better, but even knowing the players would help. There's a catch, though. Know much about Cantaran culture?"

Pike waved an elegant hand. "The outlines: secretive, technologically advanced, society organized around pair bonds."

"And serious about it. Any group that wants to bid must send their best, provided their best is a bonded pair." Cornwell smiled a little. "When someone starts asking for our best, I come to you." 

Michael smiled at the compliment, the reminder of Pike's reputation, the esteem so many had for him.

Pike didn't seem nearly so charmed. "Not for nothing, but every time you compliment me, you give me more impossible assignments."

"Noticed that, have you?" Cornwell said, dry. 

"There's one problem, you realize," Pike said, equally dry.

"Yes. Last I checked you're single, so you'll need to take one of your crew."

"_Why_ are you checking on that?" Pike asked, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"Gee, I can't imagine any reason the Admiralty would be interested," Cornwell said, sarcasm dripping. "So unless you've got a secret paramour..."

Pike stiffened, but didn't respond. Cornwell smiled again. "Didn't think so. Take Burnham. Her xenoanthropology will be useful."

Michael startled, heat sweeping through her, eyes widening. "Me?" she couldn't help but ask. 

Pike turned to look at her, _something_ in his eyes. Cornwell answered: "Our researchers would like as much information about their cultural practices as possible. You're uniquely qualified to observe."

Michael stilled, realizing Cornwell's argument was logical and that there was no possible way to refuse. So she swallowed the little beat of panic thrumming through her and nodded, short. "Yes, Admiral."

"You do realize that they're asking for our best and your plan is to have us lie," Pike said, returning his gaze to Cornwell, something uncomfortable in the line of his shoulders. 

"'Best' can mean all manner of things. I'm sure you and Burnham will figure out a suitable cover story. We'll send over the pertinent data." Cornwell turned to go, but then she paused. "We just got out of one war, Chris. We don't want to get caught flat-footed by another. Get it done."

Then she was gone.

Pike sighed. "Well, hell," he said to the room. 

Privately, Michael agreed. 

***

"You're pretending to be the captain's_ girlfriend_?" Tilly asked, incredulous, as Michael hastily packed. The 'pertinent data' had included an itinerary, which informed them they needed to be at the Cantaran homeworld in less than four hours, which gave them about twenty minutes to pack. The itinerary indicated there would be several formal dinners; she'd have to bring more than just her uniform. 

Michael stayed laser focused on the logistics. She didn't need to think about...other things. 

She looked at her sleep pants and frowned. "Something like that. Is this what people in a relationship wear to sleep?" she asked, holding them up. 

Tilly didn't look. "Okay, but you're pretending to be the captain's _girlfriend_," she said, apparently still caught on that. 

Michael swallowed, putting the sleep pants inside the bag. She supposed she should be herself, if only to make the role easier to inhabit. "It's just a mission, Tilly."

"A mission where you might have to get up close and personal with the _captain_," Tilly shot back, a little relish to her voice. "I can't even tell you how many people are dying of jealousy right now."

That stopped Michael. She swung her eyes to Tilly. "What?"

"What what? Have you _seen_ the man?" 

Michael had, and he was entirely too distracting, which was part of the problem. "Other people have romantic intentions toward the captain?" she clarified, frowning. She'd never encountered anyone who professed such feelings.

But then, sometimes she missed these things. People also tended to be more formal with her, for whatever reason. 

"I mean, 'intentions' sounds pretty active. I'd go with something more impossible-flavored. Like, daydreams or, ya know, shower fantasies."

Michael flushed, reminded of the few times she'd had...thoughts in the shower. 

But Tilly had narrowed her eyes, thinking. "Wait, 'other people?'" she asked, keen. 

Michael's heart _thumped _as she realized her mistake. She didn't let it show, moving to her wardrobe. "I may need to replicate new formalwear. I don't think I have anything appropriate."

Tilly stood from her bed and moved to her, dogged. "You are totally dodging me right now. What did you mean by—Michael."

Michael looked over at the insistent tone. Tilly stared at her, unblinking. "Do you...have a crush on the captain?"

"I need to pack, Tilly," she said, looking back at her clothes. 

Tilly grabbed her arm, not letting her brush past it. "Seriously."

Michael met her eyes again, not saying anything, but knowing that Tilly would read her. 

Tilly blinked, once, startled. "...oh." She let Michael's arm drop as she looked away, shaking her head a little, red curls bouncing. "How did I miss that?" she asked, almost to herself. 

"I didn't want anyone to know," Michael said quietly.

Tilly frowned as she looked back. "I'm not anyone."

Michael nodded because that was certainly true. "You're not. It's just...after Ash—and he's the captain," she tried to explain, halting, not really able to talk about it. She'd avoided even _thinking_ about it. 

Understanding flashed in Tilly's eyes before she smirked. "_Yeah_, he is," she said, suggestive. "Good for you. You deserve a hot man who will treat you right. Which, by the way, now _I'm_ jealous. The captain. _Damn_."

"Nothing's..." Heat flushed through her as she thought about it. "Nothing's going on, Tilly. It's just a...fixation."

Tilly stepped closer, drawing Michael's attention. "Since when?" 

Michael thought back to the first time she saw him—expecting Spock and confused by his absence, eyes swinging over to the really-quite-striking captain, already so open, so engaging, as he gave Saru the bad news. 

It wasn't logical, she knew. The spark of interest had taken her by surprise, something about it...unseemly. But still, she couldn't deny that amidst all the confusion over Spock, her body had taken notice of Pike, right from the start. That he turned out to be a good man and a first-rate captain only made things...harder.

"Since always," she admitted, surprising Tilly again. 

She bounced back quickly, nodding, like she understood everything. "And you instinctively rebelled because god forbid you want someone for their body."

"That's not—"

But Tilly just waved her protest aside. "Embrace your lust, Michael."

"That's what I'm worried about," she muttered. 

Tilly nodded again, like this was expected. "You're freaked that he might figure it out. I have a solution for you."

Michael perked up. "What?" she asked, half-desperate. 

"Tell him you want him," Tilly shot back, like that was reasonable.

Michael deflated. "I don't even like feeling this way. I'm not going to—and now I have to pretend to be in love with him in front of a bunch of arms dealers." That was the thing she'd been avoiding, the horror at the idea seeping into her gut and making it roll. Of course Tilly would force her to confront it. Michael loved her best friend, but her determination was deeply inconvenient sometimes. 

"_Will_ there be much pretending?" Tilly asked, mild. 

Michael ignored _that_. "What if I can't hide it?" she asked, quiet, the crux of it. Pike would be kind about her affections, of course, but she could already see the vaguely pitying look, the softness as he let her down. And they'd still have to _pretend_, not to mention work together afterward. 

"What if he wants you back?" Tilly challenged.

Michael scoffed. Ridiculous. In the months they'd known each other, he'd been nothing but professional. And if he sometimes opened up to her about deeper things, well, that was just Pike being...open. Everyone needed confidantes, especially captains; it was a sign that he respected her enough to solicit her input. Assuming anything more was foolish. 

"Pike is direct. If you were right, he would have indicated," she explained. 

Tilly just stared at her. "Like by initiating emotional conversations with you in hallways and ready rooms and turbolifts and mess halls and literally anywhere you two share space?"

Michael flushed. "That's not—it's—he would say something directly."

Tilly nodded once, like she'd decided. "I rescind my incredulity over this mission. It's clearly meant to be." She tilted her head as an idea struck. "Hey, do you think Cornwell knows? And she did this on purpose to, like, shove you two toward each other?"

A hot prickle of embarrassment slid through Michael at the idea. "_No_." She swallowed and controlled herself. "The Admiral would never compromise a mission because of...personal feelings. That aren't even mutual," she added. 

"Sure, yeah, go with that," Tilly nodded, innocent.

Michael frowned at her. "Can we stop talking about this and start talking about formalwear instead?"

Tilly pointed at her accusingly. "This is a distraction. You're just trying to distract me and, well, it's working, but I'm not forgetting about the other thing."

Michael decided not to engage on that because...well, _because_. "So, dresses?"

Tilly lit up. "This is my new favorite mission." She stretched her fingers, as if she were preparing herself. "Come with me, Michael. My secret catalogue awaits." 

***

His favorite color was red. His mother's name was Karen. His childhood horse was named Tango. He liked late twentieth century cinema. 

Michael tried to keep the litany of facts straight, her brain already filled with information from Starfleet's dossier: timeline, what they knew of Cantara, the other likely buyers. 

Now they were using their shuttle flight time to quiz each other on the small things, little bits you picked up in a relationship. It was distracting her from the very _big_ thing—she was _pretending_ to be the captain's _girlfriend_. 

So. The small things. 

"Oatmeal raisin, really?" Pike asked, smiling like he thought she might be toying with him. "No one _likes_ oatmeal raisin."

"I'm a contrarian," she said, dry, getting a flash of a smile from him. 

"Yeah, a real rebel," he shot back, an appreciative note to it. 

It sent warmth spreading through her, too close to exactly what she wanted from him—his eyes on her, just the two of them, that note of approval in his voice. More.

Michael looked away then, out to the stars speeding by. She needed to stop her mind from going there. 

She was _pretending_ to be his _girlfriend_. 

Pike cleared his throat, strained now. It was unusual enough that Michael looked over, curious. 

His gaze was soft, slightly apologetic, maybe a little hesitant. "We should probably talk boundaries."

"Boundaries?" she echoed, feeling something flutter in her chest. 

Pike shook his head, like there was nothing for it. "I've never been any kind of actor. My policy is truth, always, so I'm a little out of my comfort zone with this. But I gather that playing at being...together might put us into some awkward situations," he said, after searching for the word. "I suspect that can be mitigated by discussing it upfront."

"Oh," she said, blinking. Then she realized she shouldn't be so surprised; of course he was addressing this head-on. As she told Tilly, he was direct. "That's logical."

A ghost of a smile flitted over his face. "High praise, indeed." He quickly sobered, gaze earnest. "I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

It sent a burst of heat through her, mind instantly going to the kinds of situations that could make her uncomfortable. She controlled those thoughts, not wanting him to see too much. "It's a...different dynamic," she said, neutral.

Pike nodded, accepting. "It is. The small things are easy. You should call me Chris. I'll call you Michael."

_Chris_, she repeated in her head, looking at him in that light. She'd heard Cornwell call him that. Captain Vela, too. He seemed to be the kind of man who shared himself with others easily, open and bright. Michael wondered what that was like. 

"Chris," she said, nodding, feeling the taste of it. 

"The bigger things...well, they're less easy," Pike—no, _Chris_—said, tilting his head almost bashfully. He slowly reached out and took her hand, like a question. "We're going to have to...be close."

Michael studied their hands, the touch sending a shiver through her. She pulled her eyes away and up to his face. He was watching her, attentive. 

"I don't have much experience with that," she admitted, figuring there was no use in hiding it. If they did get close, he'd sense it soon enough.

Chris nodded, like he'd expected that. "Vulcans do not touch."

"Not unless they're _very_ close," she said, dry. 

Chris' eyes warmed, like it pleased him she could still make a joke. Then it faded away, something complicated in its place. "Humans do. _I_ do," he corrected, flexing his hand in hers. "I don't know how to pretend to be in a relationship other than to..._be_ in a relationship. But I also know that's my issue and I don't want to inflict it on you."

Michael frowned as she thought it through. "I grew up on Vulcan. Since then, I've been in Starfleet. My relationships have been...brief," she said, not wanting to get into it. 

Chris nodded, not pushing, and Michael sagged a little as her shoulders relaxed. She hadn't even realized she stiffened up. She was suddenly acutely conscious of how grateful she was for that easy acceptance. One of the constant marvels of him was how he _didn't_ push. 

"So while I've never engaged in it, I'm—I'm not opposed to casual touching," she offered, twining their fingers together and squeezing his hand back. "We do need to make them believe."

Chris held her gaze, dead serious. "Don't compromise yourself for me. Or for the mission."

"I'm not," she said, trying to put the truth of that in her look. "I don't mind...being close." Part of her _reeled_ at what an understatement that was. Another part of her shied away. Confronting this...base physical attraction was daunting, the reality of it almost too much. 

"I trust you," she added, in case it needed to be said. Because she did, more than anyone she'd known for such a short time. Chris would never intentionally hurt her and he'd always do his best for her; she knew that like she knew her own name. 

Chris studied her, like this was _important_. After a few long moments, he nodded, slowly withdrawing his hand. "Okay. We'll see how it goes. It may be moot; we're officers representing Starfleet, after all. But I also didn't want to throw any curveballs your way."

"I appreciate that," she said. Because she did. Even if part of her withered at the idea that he might not put his hands on her ever again, it was good to set expectations. 

And if part of her _thrilled_ at the idea that the mission meant she'd get to be close to him, well. She was very good at ignoring such things. 

She'd certainly had a lot of practice.

***

By the time they entered Cantaran airspace, Michael felt like she had a good base of knowledge from which to work, little details about Chris' life filling her head. It was both intimate and weirdly clinical, dry facts shared for the mission, but still opening up little windows into the man himself. 

They both paused to take in the Cantaran homeworld as they flew toward the capitol—soaring spires of vast, twinkling cities blending into endless swathes of green forests. The architecture was light, almost airy, integrated with the natural environment, yet still apart from it.

"It's beautiful," she murmured.

Michael could feel his eyes on her as he agreed, "It is." 

She swallowed, something unsettled within her, but when she looked over at him, he was focused on the screen, effortlessly piloting the shuttle, strong hands moving over the controls like it was second nature. "Do you miss being a pilot?" she asked, curious. 

Chris glanced over at her in surprise. He half-shrugged, something thoughtful in it. "Maybe sometimes. I can appreciate the instantaneous feedback. Enter a command here, go there. It's...simple."

"Not a lot of simple in being a captain," Michael said, nodding. 

Something flickered in his expression. "No, there is not," he agreed, his voice a shade darker. Then he shook it off. "But I do what's asked of me. And as captain, I can help more people."

"Maybe more than a captain soon," she offered, smiling a little at the thought. She shouldn't be so invested in his accomplishments—they were his, not hers—yet she couldn't shake the little thrill of pride in how highly he was regarded, Starfleet seeing what she saw. 

Chris shot her another glance. "Caught that, did you?"

"There aren't a lot of reasons for the Admiralty to take an interest in your personal life," she observed. "How long have they been looking at you for promotion?"

"Unclear. Kat's been dropping more hints recently, though."

"You deserve it," she said, quiet.

Chris looked at her, something vaguely startled around his eyes, before he focused back on their flight path. "Nothing's been decided yet. It's all just talk."

"Until it's not," she offered. "Starfleet couldn't ask for a better flag officer," she said, feeling the truth of it. He was the kind of man who inspired his crew, a living embodiment of the ideals they all held so dear. He would do that for fleets, for the whole of Starfleet if they let him get high enough. 

Chris blinked, seeming caught off guard, like he didn't know what to say. "Thank you." Their eyes held, some kind of tension stretching between them— 

Then the comms system activated, a voice directing: "Starfleet shuttle, please proceed to landing zone alpha."

It broke the moment, Chris opening a channel and replying with a simple, "Roger that." He then ended the transmission and smoothly piloted the shuttle down into a shielded hangar bay, landing at the appropriate berth. He set the shuttle down gently, skillful, the sheer competence its own kind of distraction. 

Michael had no idea when piloting had become erotic to her. It could stop anytime now. 

As he powered the shuttle down, Chris met her eyes again, tilting his head. "Since we don't know what kind of surveillance they have in place, we shouldn't break cover until we leave."

A little stab of heat went through Michael—it meant there would be no respite from playing the besotted couple—but she just nodded, seeing the wisdom of it. "Yes, sir."

Something flickered in Chris' eyes, but he didn't say anything more, disengaging his harness and standing, gesturing for her to precede him as the shuttle door opened, ramp extending. 

They waited as it did, taking in the hangar bay as it was revealed to them—more sumptuous than Michael expected, walls decorated in the orange and purple of the Cantaran flag, little curling details in the metalwork that seemed to serve no purpose other than aesthetics. 

From what Starfleet knew, Cantara was an oligarchy, five ruling families sitting atop a society that spanned all three habitable worlds in their system. The families were each headed by a pair bond that occupied consular positions in their ruling body, the positions passed down hereditarily in a surprisingly stable arrangement. Michael suspected that was because it wasn't strictly hereditary; heirs considered unfit for leadership were passed over for those who were. That implied there was more internal strife than Starfleet knew about, but Michael couldn't argue with the fact that the same five families had ruled for centuries, without any internecine warfare. 

As a warp-capable species, Starfleet had reached out many times over the centuries, keen to establish relations, but the Cantarans were resistant to any outside influence, preferring to keep to themselves. Suddenly putting a weapon for sale and inviting outsiders in to bid...it raised some eyebrows. 

The ramp fully extended, Michael spotted a delegation waiting to greet them—two Cantarans in sumptuous purple robes, presumably their hosts, a cadre of uniformed military personnel lining the walls behind them, standing at attention. Michael spotted some form of blasters in evidence, but they were holstered, not an immediate threat. 

Chris started down the ramp, Michael keeping pace, studying their hosts—a male and female, their light grey skin decoratively adorned with purple and orange sunburst designs. Like many species in the galaxy, they were humanoid, around the same height and build as humans and Vulcans, the female slightly smaller than the male. Beneath his sumptuous robe, he wore a purple tunic, edged with intricate bronze ornamentation, over dark trousers and boots. She wore a purple, figure-hugging dress, its front dipping low, her skin showing off more of those sunbursts. Her dark, curling hair was arranged in an elaborate updo that likely took multiple servants to achieve. The characteristic Cantaran forehead ridges—three above each eye—gave them a vaguely surprised look, but Michael knew that was misleading and she would have to adjust her facial interpretations to account for her own preconceived notion. 

Chris headed for them, stride easy and confident, the picture of the Federation captain. When he neared, the male Cantaran spoke: "Welcome, honored guests. I am Seelak, Proconsul of Clan Lukani. My wife, Illiana." They both bowed their heads, seemingly some kind of official greeting. 

Chris nodded back, neutral. "Captain Christopher Pike. This is Commander Michael Burnham," he said, placing a gentle hand on her lower back. Michael startled at the touch, heart rate ticking up as she swung her eyes to Chris, but she covered with a smile, nodding to both of them and hoping they didn't notice the lapse. When Chris had talked about being close, she hadn't thought it would start quite so immediately...or affect her quite so much. 

"We're pleased the Federation could join us," Seelak said, political and polite, purple eyes studying them keenly. He was handsome by their standards—a square jaw, symmetrical features, his dark hair cut short and neat.

"Starfleet would be more pleased if you weren't selling weapons on the open market," Chris said, also political and polite for all that the message was pointed.

Illiana looked to Seelak, her lips tipping up in a small smile only emphasizing her beauty, before returning her gray eyes to them. "A sentiment expressed by all of our guests. Along with an offer to deal directly."

Chris didn't take to the false equivalence. "Surely you can understand our concern that you're selling weapons to the highest bidder."

Seelak's smile was small and slow, a little relishing in a way Michael immediately mistrusted. "Who says it's to the highest bidder?"

Michael blinked as Chris stilled, brow furrowing. "That's news to us."

Illiana flicked a dismissive hand, her fingers adorned with bronze-colored rings, jewels sparkling orange and purple at them. "If we simply wanted the most currency, we could do that remotely. There's a bit more to it than that. But all will be clear in time. Come. The welcome gathering awaits. Attendants will bring your bags to your room."

Seelak gestured them to the open door, turning and striding out before them, Illiana by his side. Their deep purple robes billowed out behind them, a large bronze crest design adorning each, gleaming in the lights. 

Chris shot Michael a concerned look, but followed, Michael falling in beside him. 

Not a promising start.

***

The welcome gathering turned out to be a kind of mixer, about three dozen bidders milling about a great hall, a large Cantaran flag taking up an entire wall, draperies of orange and purple lining the opposite wall of windows, overlooking the capitol city outside, the sun just starting to set. Gray-uniformed Cantaran waiters swirled, carrying trays of drinks. 

Chris and Michael paused just inside the entrance, taking in the crowd, while Seelak and Illiana proceeded toward a raised landing at the head of the room. As Chris grabbed them drinks, Michael studied their opponents, clocking a pair of Cardassians, Tellarites, Flaxians, Klingons, Nausicaans, Orions, plus a few more humans of indeterminate origin. When her eyes landed on pointed ears, the breath left her in a rush. 

Chris had seen the same thing. "Vulcans?" he asked, low and incredulous. But no, another moment of study—the cruel smile on their faces, their militaristic tunics—spoke of something else entirely. 

"_Romulans_," she corrected, her voice low and worried. 

Chris took a sharp breath. "Romulans haven't been seen in a century."

Michael met his eyes. "They're here now."

Just then, a small gong sounded, focusing attention to the head of the room, where Seelak and Illiana stood on the raised landing, each holding a glass of something purple and bubbling. 

"Welcome, one and all. We are honored to host you in our home. I know some of you have wondered at the purpose of these events. The truth is, the technology that we're offering has great power, but to work, it requires a compound only found on our worlds." A murmur went through the crowd at that. Michael exchanged a look with Chris, who seemed more curious than alarmed. The weapon having some sort of resource limitation was a good thing, especially if they couldn't secure it for the Federation. 

Seelak stepped forward then. "We are not just selling technology; we're selling a relationship. Here on Cantara, we take relationships very seriously, those formed from love most of all. As such, we want to know our new partners. That is why your peoples were invited to send their best...and make no mistake, you will be judged."

"In order to facilitate that, for the duration of the proceedings, you will not be permitted to communicate with your peoples. Doing so will immediately nullify your bid."

Seelak added, light: "We're sure you understand."

Illiana raised her glass, a small smile in place. "To new friends." 

Michael smiled, impressed by the gumption. She raised her glass, Chris following suit, as around the room, others did the same, buying into the proceedings. Not that anyone had a choice, really. 

After the toast, Illiana looked to the crowd again. "We'll reconvene for dinner in a few hours' time. Until then, enjoy yourselves."

With that, she and Seelak both stepped into the crowd, nodding in greeting as people swirled about them, undoubtedly seeking to curry favor. 

Michael turned to Chris. "You have to admire the power play," she said, wry.

"Indeed," Chris said, a vaguely impressed lilt to his voice. 

"You!" The shout whirled them around, Michael catching a glimpse of a redhead trying to stop a figure barreling toward her. A very _familiar_ figure. 

"Harry Mudd?" Michael asked, incredulous. 

Mudd stopped short, glaring at her, Stella with a restraining hand on his arm. "You shouldn't be here, Burnham!" 

Chris stepped to Michael's side, straightening, an implied threat that some part of her distantly appreciated even as most of her mind was busy trying to figure out how the hell Mudd was _here_. 

"You two know each other?" Chris asked, mild. 

"He tried to steal and sell the _Discovery _to the Klingons during the war," Michael said, clipped, as a crowd ringed around them, watching the proceedings. Chris' eyes narrowed as he swung his gaze back to Mudd, tension laced through his frame now. 

"A necessity to secure my position with my beautiful wife," Mudd said, gesturing to Stella. She preened, bestowing him with a fond look.

"You would find lying and thieving a virtue," Michael shot back. 

"At least I'm not here under false pretenses," he snapped back, eyeing Chris up and down, sending a burst of cold through Michael. "That's not your little boytoy, Tyler."

Michael's gut dropped out at Mudd accurately seeing through them, even if it was based on the wrong assumptions. "Tyler and I were over a long time ago," she snapped back, hearing the strain in her own voice. 

Mudd scoffed, but before Michael could engage again, Chris took her hand, getting her attention. His look held reassurance and calm, shaking her out of the uncomfortable _thing _now clawing inside her chest, a mixture of worry, hurt, and embarrassment. She didn't want Chris to _know_. 

That was when Seelak and Illiana emerged from the crowd, taking in the spectacle with interest. "Is there a problem?" Seelak asked. 

"Harry Mudd is a conman with a long history of swindling and debt," Michael said, short. 

"How dare you! I'm here on behalf of renowned arms dealer Baron Grimes himself." Mudd gestured to them. "And they're lying. I don't know who this is, but she was canoodling with some doe-eyed Lieutenant last time I saw her," he huffed. 

Chris tilted his head at Mudd, that simple motion conveying just how deeply unimpressed he was. "Captain Christopher Pike," he drawled, the name sending another murmur through the crowd. 

Even Mudd paled, Chris' reputation preceding him. "...oh."

Chris smirked a little, in total command of the room now. "I've never heard of you—Mr. Mudd, was it?—but rest assured you're in no position to comment on the state of my relationship."

Mudd swallowed, his bluster failing him, even as he tried to rally. "Well, that's just—that's—she was—"

Chris interrupted the flailing. "As to your character, I don't know directly, but Michael's word is sacrosanct." He looked to her, loving, bringing her hand to his lips. Michael took a breath as a blinding wave of lust _slammed _through her, everything in her _reacting_ to the easy confidence of Chris in control. "And if the Cantarans want to get in business with a conman, well. That's their choice." His eyes slid to Seelak and Illiana, pointed. 

"It is, indeed," Seelak said, something appreciative in his voice. 

Illiana looked to the gathered crowd. "Such drama and the drinking has barely begun." It got a few chuckles, the mood instantly lightening. "Dinner at full dark," she reminded, sailing away. 

Even Mudd looked relieved as the crowd dispersed, everyone going their own ways. Chris stepped closer to Michael, letting go of her hand to loop his arm around her. "What do you say we go find our room?" he asked, his low voice sending a parade of filthy thoughts through her head.

Michael swallowed and nodded dimly. She was going to get control of herself any moment now. 

Any moment. 

***

An attendant led them to their room, a palatial suite with a lush sitting area, a gilded meal table, and a bedroom dominated by a sinfully huge bed. Michael blinked when she saw it, her mind instantly going to sharing it with Chris, the two of them twined together, skin to skin. Chris didn't react at all, moving her bag to one of the provided stands with a small smile. 

"Thanks," she said, quiet, the first words she'd spoken since the run-in with Mudd.

He tilted his head at her, expression sympathetic. "Don't let Mudd get to you. He's just looking for a reaction."

Michael nodded, uncomfortable with how he _had_ gotten a reaction. 

Chris sat on the bed and looked at her, curiosity edging out the sympathy. "Tyler?" he asked, kind. 

Michael swallowed, her throat going tight. "I should have told you," she offered.

Chris studied her, eyes penetrating, and Michael shifted, feeling like he could see right through her. "He hurt you."

Michael winced, then eventually nodded. "It was...difficult."

Chris sighed. "It makes some of his behavior more understandable." He shook his head, some kind of emotion there, before he stood and stepped close, wrapping his arms around her. Michael breathed out against his shoulder, short, stilling in surprise. After a stiff, frozen moment, she leaned into him, the gesture so deeply unexpected, the comfort swirling through her so...foreign. 

He just held her, one hand moving up and down her back, soothing. Eventually, he pulled away, looking down at her, eyes soft. "You don't owe me your pain, Michael. But if you want to share, I'm here."

Michael's eyes stung, part of her wanting to sink into the comfort he offered, even as another part worried it was just part of the mission, offered for the benefit of anyone who might be watching. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

Chris smiled, understanding. "Come on. We should probably get dressed for that dinner."

***

Chris changed in the bathroom first, quickly vacating so Michael could put on her dress. She glimpsed his gray pants and white shirt as they switched, but was more focused on the filmy dress in hand, the one Tilly assured her would be perfect. 

Now, looking in the mirror, she wasn't so sure. The satiny material flowed over her skin, hugging her curves in a way that made her want to blush. It was a deep forest green, with a high neck in front, and thin straps that hit at the outer edge of her shoulders. She turned again, taking in the back, a little dismayed. 

The straps plunged straight down, the bare expanse of her back seemingly endless, the material of the dress only reemerging to cover the lowest part of her lower back. From there, it clung to her ass and thighs, dropping straight down to the floor. 

Michael knew she was appropriately covered, but she still _felt_ naked. Why did she trust Tilly with this stuff, anyway? She should have double-checked. 

She also knew the other dress she'd brought likely wouldn't be any better, so she might as well go with it. Michael kept her makeup light, not needing anything else that would attract attention, and figured if she stayed seated, people probably wouldn't even notice.

It was something.

She stepped out of the bathroom...and froze. 

Apparently Chris hadn't been fully dressed before. She'd thought the steel gray pants and white button-down were it, but clearly she hadn't been thinking formal enough. He fiddled with a gray bowtie in the mirror, one that matched the gray vest and gray jacket now accompanying the gray pants. _A tuxedo_, her mind supplied—very old, very traditional human formalwear. She'd only ever seen it in pictures and then it was usually black. 

This was...something else. The gray picked up the gray in his hair, emphasizing the blue of his eyes, the tie framing his jaw in a way that made her mouth go dry. She saw him every day in uniform, perfectly put-together. This was no different. It shouldn't send helpless heat swirling through her. 

If only her body understood that. 

Her pause had gone on long enough that Chris noticed. He turned to her, that enticing half-smile in place. His eyes swept her quickly, smile deepening. "You look beautiful," he said, seeming so genuine. 

Michael flushed, getting her body moving forward. "Thank you. You look—is that a tuxedo?"

"Non-traditional spin on it, but yeah. Call me an old fogey."

"Not the word I'd use," she muttered, which seemed to pique his interest, so Michael quickly continued on. "Shall we go?"

Chris gestured for her to precede him and Michael took the opportunity to _stop staring already_ and went. But when she reached the door, she didn't hear him behind her. She turned—

Startled eyes flicked up to hers, Michael flushing again as she realized he'd been _looking_ at her. Or, rather, at her very naked back. Embarrassment and confusion and _want_ rushed through her. She _knew_ the dress was too much. Dammit, Tilly. 

Chris visibly shook himself, hurrying after her with a tight smile, like he was unhappy with something. But he didn't say anything, falling in beside her as they moved into the hall. 

Side-by-side was safe. They wouldn't have to look at each other. 

Michael wondered if they could keep it up all night. 

***

They were seated across from the Romulans at dinner. Thankfully, the chair did cover her back, so she was correct on that front. 

She hadn't anticipated the sneering hostility, though. The female, N'Mala, was most obvious about it, but Timok hardly deigned to cover his disdain at their introductions, either.

Chris seemed unfazed, nodding politely to the servers as they placed plates of food in front of them before returning his attention to the Romulans. "We were surprised to see you here. We haven't encountered your people in quite a while."

N'Mala smiled thinly. "Our ships are too much for your sensors, clearly."

Chris took a careful bite of food, chewing thoughtfully. "So you've been across the neutral zone?" he asked, mild.

"What subterfuge," Timok said, mocking. "You almost got us there. Because we would admit to an act of war over this mediocre wine." Despite the criticism, Timok still took a drink. 

Chris regarded him evenly. "Funny you didn't deny engaging in an act of war at all."

Michael's lips curled as she ate, enjoying Chris scoring a point. 

Timok narrowed his eyes at Chris, seeming reluctantly appreciative. He tipped his glass. "What's that Earth saying? 'Heaven forbid.'"

Chris took a pointed bite and held Timok's gaze. 

Michael shifted in her seat. She should not find this hot. At all. 

N'Mala zeroed in on Michael, studying her carefully. "Michael Burnham," she said, a knowing lilt to it. "You're Sarek's ward."

Michael blinked, surprised that they had that level of information. "That's right."

N'Mala smirked. "Your exploits are well known. We have heard of how you didn't have the nerve to finish what you started. But such is the corrupting influence of the followers of Surak."

Michael's hand gripped hard around her fork, everything in her going cold. 

N'Mala seemed to read it, amused. Her eyes flicked from Michael to Chris, somehow both dismissive and accusatory. "What an unlikely couple. Starfleet's finest...and its first mutineer." 

Michael stiffened at the implication, but Chris simply smiled as he finished his food. "I find that one of Starfleet's greatest strengths is its capacity for forgiveness."

Timok scoffed. "Or its greatest weakness. Allowing traitors to live."

Michael tensed again, her jaw clenching. She'd heard it before—from other prisoners, from perfect strangers, from those she'd once called friends. But hearing it in front of Chris...something about that was harder. 

She didn't want those thoughts in his head. 

Chris dropped his hand on Michael's, rubbing his thumb along the skin of her wrist. Even though it shouldn't, the touch settled something inside her.

"Let's interrogate that for a moment," Chris mused, like he had no particular emotional connection to the thought. He kept his thumb moving along her skin, soothing. "Michael pleaded guilty. If Starfleet had executed her, she would have been dead soon after the start of the war."

"Clearly," N'Mala said, her tone implying Chris was an idiot and she wasn't averse to him knowing it. 

Chris smiled a little, like her disdain amused him. "If Michael were dead, she never would have ended up on the _Discovery_. She wouldn't have made her vital contributions to the technology that helped turn the tide of war. She wouldn't have been in a position to stop the genocide of untold millions. She wouldn't have been able to appeal to the Klingons and end the war. We might still be fighting today. Hell, we might have lost." 

He took another sip of wine, letting the point land. "Did Michael make a grave error in judgment? Yes. One she admitted, accepted punishment for, and sought to rectify. In so doing, she demonstrated a commitment to Starfleet that put others to shame. She saved us all. If that isn't an argument for forgiveness as strength, I don't know what is."

Michael stared at her half-empty plate, unseeing, faintly vibrating as his words seared into her mind. Her hand burned where he still touched her, somehow both grounding and destabilizing at once.

They'd never talked about this. Chris had made an oblique reference to it when he first took command of the ship and never again. Here, now, Michael realized that some part of her had worried what he thought of her choices. Of her. The most heavily-decorated captain in Starfleet, the most honorable among them, how could he possibly excuse mutiny? And against a captain she loved. 

Yet here he was, laying out exactly how. By embracing their principles. 

The intensity of the relief shocked her. Dimly, she understood that she should have expected this. He approached everyone with that empathy and compassion. It was who he was. 

And still, some deep, small part of her had been terrified of his judgment. Of coming up wanting. This total lack of condemnation...she didn't know what to do with the strength of the emotion storming through her. 

Thankfully, the others were still talking.

Timok scoffed again, dismissive. "You're speaking of one case in a billion."

"All it takes is one," Chris shot back. "And I am glad to be part of something that believes in that one."

Before Timok could say anything more, music started filtering in, an orchestra beginning to play from beneath the great hall. Illiana and Seelak moved to the open space at the center of the room, what Michael realized must be a dance area. They swayed together, comfortable in each other's arms, the music slow and sultry, inviting. Other couples joined in, filling out the dance floor.

Michael just stared. At some point, she would pull herself together, shove all these feelings into a box, and be able to function again. 

She _would_. 

Chris squeezed Michael's hand, getting her attention. She looked over, finding him already watching her, otherworldly handsome in his tuxedo. "Dance with me."

Michael blinked...and finally nodded, letting him pull her onto the dance floor and into his arms. One hand held hers, the other moving to her bare back, pressing her into his body. She could feel him everywhere as he started to sway them to the music, the coiled strength in him swamping her already-muddled thoughts. 

Michael swallowed against her attraction, trying to ignore the way the pads of his fingertips lit up the skin of her back. It made her feel naked. It made her want to _be_ naked. 

"Thank you," she said eventually, finding her voice. "You didn't have to say that."

"It's true," he said simply, devastating her all over again. 

She melted into him, resting her cheek against his shoulder, letting the closeness wash over her, her senses overloaded with him—the way he felt against her body, in her arms, his scent surrounding her. His fingers running down the length of her spine sent a zing of pleasure through her, pooling heat between her legs. 

His hand squeezed hers, his thumb moving over her skin rhythmically, lighting up nerve endings she hadn't even been aware of. Michael curled her own hand into his back, gripping his jacket and holding him close. She looked up, meeting his eyes—_so blue_—

Without thinking, she leaned up and pressed her mouth to his. She felt a jolt go through his body, but he didn't pull away, tilting his head and kissing back, a careful press of his mouth that inflamed the heat already bubbling inside her. 

She let go of his hand, reaching to the back of his neck, gripping his hair and pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Chris responded, his free hand settling on her arm, traveling a slow slide down all the exposed skin to land at her hip, that touch hitting her low. 

She flicked her tongue at his bottom lip and Chris gasped a little, mouth opening against hers as they kissed. His tongue dipped into her mouth, soft, still tasting of the wine from dinner, and a wave of lust slammed through her so forcefully she couldn't help the hungry noise she made into his mouth. She _wanted _this. 

Chris broke away to breathe. Michael tried to follow his mouth, but this time he dodged her, shaking his head a little. Michael looked up to his eyes, which were glassy and dark, but they still held an awareness. "Let's hold that for a different venue," he murmured, gaze flicking around pointedly. 

And like that, the cold rushed in, Michael remembering they were _in public_, on a dance floor, everyone could _see them_. Her eyes scanned the crowd, clocking the knowing looks people were tossing them, sudden heat flaming in her cheeks. She was making a _spectacle_ of herself. Of _them_. 

Michael breathed out, dropping her forehead to his chest. Chris made a soothing sound, one hand stroking up her back...which really didn't help things at all, just reminding her how much she wanted those hands on her body. 

"Sorry," she finally said, low and rough to her own ears, looking up at him in apology. She was so far out of line—

Chris eyed her steadily. "Don't be. I'm not," he murmured, eyes still hot, and what was that? Him playing his part? Acting like a man in love? Michael shivered, confused, not knowing what to do with it. 

He seemed to sense it, blinking, shuttering his expression. He swallowed. "How about we get a drink?"

"_Yes_," she said, desperate, too many impulses firing through her at once.

Chris smiled and stepped away, leading her off the dance floor in a daze. They landed at the bar off to the side of the room, Chris getting the bartender's attention as she stared at the line of his throat and tried not to imagine biting her way down it. 

One of the Tellarites turned from the bar, his snout flaring as he huffed in a breath and scowled at them. He looked to Chris, derisive. "Your female needs to be bred. If you can't do it, someone else can take your place." 

Embarrassment seized through her, Michael realizing that with his heightened senses, he could _smell_ her. She grasped onto the feeling, letting it morph into anger; she narrowed her eyes at him, squaring off. "How humiliating that you're not _up_ to the task," she said, eyes sliding down his frame their own kind of insult. 

The Tellarite eyed her for a moment...then threw his head back and roared with laughter. "I like you," he said, chuckling, his tusks faintly vibrating with it. Then he ambled off, chuckling again. Michael turned back to Chris—

Who stared at her in mute surprise. "What?" she asked, clipped. "Tellarites respect a good insult."

Chris simply handed her the drink he'd been ordering. "I don't think you need this, but it seems like you've earned it."

Michael took it.

*** 

After dinner, Seelak and Illiana led them into a room that resembled something more like a nightclub—dark, with booths scattered around at even intervals. The flickering candles spread over the disparate tables created pools of amber light, an air of mystery to the whole thing. 

Michael turned to Chris, keeping close, starting to feel the effects of the drink. Of him. 

"Did the itinerary say anything about this?" she murmured, staring at his mouth.

He shook his head. "Post-dinner entertainment."

"Specific."

Low music rose throughout the room, seemingly with no source. It was even more sensuous than the music from dinner, a lilting, seductive note to it that Michael felt vibrate through her chest, though she didn't quite understand. 

Chris seemed to sense something. His hand immediately curled into hers, pulling her down into a booth in a corner of the room, one with good sight lines to the entrances. The booths were tight, Michael pressed close to him as his sharp eyes took in the other bidders settling into their own booths, waiters arriving with more drinks, liberally passing them out. Mudd grabbed two, swigging both of them in quick succession, while Stella glared from beside him. 

Seelak and Illiana took drinks of their own, toasting the room in general. "Enjoy," Illiana said, something low and pleased in her voice. Many of the other bidders tipped their glasses. 

A waitress moved toward Chris and Michael, offering some bright orange concoctions, but they both waved her off. The room was already too fuzzy-edged for Michael's liking. 

"Just more socializing?" Michael guessed.

"Because we're such a friendly bunch," Chris said, nodding to where all the pairs were spread out, everyone keeping to themselves. The Romulans perched stiffly, hands rigid around their untouched drinks. 

"Don't sell yourself short," Michael muttered, getting a light laugh from him. 

He looked down at her fondly as the doors opened again. Michael turned—

To find _very_ scantily-clad Cantarans filing in, instantly dispersing throughout the room, heading to each of the booths, alluring smiles in place. Both male and female, their clothing—such as it was—left little to the imagination. Pleased murmurs rose from the bidders, Mudd guffawing in delight as the Cantarans started up a seductive dance to the music echoing through the room, approaching booths with intent. 

Michael frowned. "Exotic dancers? That seems inconsistent for a society built around pair bonds." 

Chris looked to her, briefly raising an eyebrow. "Because hypocrisy has never been a part of rigid cultures."

Michael opened her mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a female dancer's arrival at their booth. She was strikingly beautiful, but obviously young, her gray skin decorated with those starburst patterns, this time in green, and they were _everywhere._ Which Michael could see because the lacy black straps she wore barely covered anything. 

Cantarans seemed to have the same basic physiology as humans, though the groupings of three ridges weren't exclusive to their foreheads. They repeated elsewhere, mainly down their spines, which Michael could see _all of_. 

And _she_ had felt naked at the start of the evening. Her dress now seemed positively conservative. 

The dancer's dark hair curled halfway down her back, some of it falling forward to frame her breasts as she leaned over them. "Welcome evening, honored guests," she greeted, her voice a low purr. "My name is Leera and I am here to ensure you have a pleasurable stay."

She moved closer, purple eyes focused on Chris, her body sliding provocatively against the booth's table as she draped herself over it, an invitation.

Michael studied Chris, whose eyebrows had risen at the display. He looked away from Leera to Michael, tilting his head, a nonverbal _seriously?_ that made Michael smile. 

She leaned forward, Chris warm and solid against her side, curious despite herself. "What services do you provide?" 

Leera smiled at her, but looked back to Chris, whose eyes hadn't left Michael. "You can touch," she said, wide-eyed and inviting. "You can do anything you want." She reached out, her fingers curling into Chris' jacket lapel, finally getting his attention. 

Chris looked over, meeting her eyes and staying there. "That's...very kind," he said, even. "But we're fine."

"Are you?" she asked, her voice dripping sex. 

"As I said," Chris said, dismissively turning back to Michael.

Leera actually blinked in surprise, but she recovered admirably, her attention swinging to Michael. "Perhaps your partner, then," she said, moving to Michael's side of the table, hips swaying. She pressed careful fingers to Michael's cheek, the candlelight glinting off the rings that adorned them. Leera stroked down to Michael's chin, her touch practiced, teasing. "Would you like to watch?" she asked, tossing a look to Chris. 

Who remained unmoved, eyes on Michael's. He dipped his chin toward her, letting her take the lead. 

Michael pulled her face away from Leera's touch. "Thank you for the offer, but no."

Leera's brow furrowed, seemingly troubled, like they were a puzzle she couldn't crack. "Would you prefer a male?"

"We would prefer solitude," Chris said smoothly, finally glancing to her. "If you'll be so kind."

Blinking again, and frowning at the outright dismissal, Leera straightened, bowing her head. "As you wish." She headed off, her hips swaying again, inviting. 

"I never learned that," Michael said idly, wondering if Leera practiced walking like that or if it came naturally. 

"What?" Chris asked, eyes still on her. 

"Seduction."

"You don't need to," he said, low, his voice sending a pulse of want through her. The mostly-naked people in here did nothing for her, but Chris' eyes on her, saying things in _that _voice— 

Michael flushed, dropping her eyes to her hands, twisting in the folds of her dress. 

"Do you want to stay?" Chris asked, soft.

Michael met his gaze, wanting to drown in it, but holding herself in check. She broke the look, taking in the room, most of the other bidders now being...entertained by the dancers. Something about it made her sad. 

"No," she said, feeling suddenly tired. 

Chris nodded and stood, holding out a hand. 

Michael took it, letting him help her up, then lead her toward the door. It was quieter in the hallway, the lights having been lowered in deference to the late hour. Chris looked around, orienting himself. 

Before he picked a direction, the doors opened behind them and Seelak emerged, looking vaguely puzzled. "I thought I saw you leave. Are you well?"

"It's about time we retired for the evening," Chris said, polite.

But Seelak was insightful enough to sense there was more to it. He stilled, studying them. "You're not enjoying the performance?"

"No," Chris said, short. Michael's eyes flew to him in surprise, but he was staring down Seelak, uncompromising. 

Seelak seemed equally taken aback. "Really?" His voice held genuine surprise. 

"You require couples to bid, you extol the bonds of love, and then you parade a bunch of half-naked dancers in front of us. Do you see the contradiction?"

Seelak blinked at Chris, surprised. "Some couples appreciate looking."

"Not this one," Chris shot back. 

Seelak bowed slightly. "We've offended you. My apologies."

Chris seemed to soften at that. "Accepted. Have a pleasant evening." And with that, he walked on, ushering Michael away. She glanced behind them to see Seelak watching them go, something calculating on his face. 

"Do you really think it's a good idea to antagonize our hosts?" she asked, looking back to Chris, whose jaw was clenched tight. 

Chris made an irritated noise. "The hypocrisy rankles."

Michael inclined her head. "Still."

Chris sighed. "Hell, if they're looking for the most amoral or ruthless, they're not going to choose us anyway. In that case, we might as well hold up a mirror."

***

Michael tensed with every step they took closer to their room. The heat still simmered under her skin, the memory of that kiss flashing before her eyes, almost accusing, now that they were alone. She couldn't get Chris' voice out of her head, telling her to wait for another venue. And now they were going back to their room. To sleep. In the same bed. Together. 

She pushed those thoughts aside. It was necessary for the mission. Besides, that was all it would be: sleep. 

No matter what she wanted. 

Chris stepped back as they reached the door, letting her enter first. He was doing that more, she was starting to realize, puzzling at it. 

But then she stepped over the threshold, her eyes unerringly going to the bed, and the thought got lost. It was a big bed, after all. It wasn't like they'd be on top of each other. 

That thought sent a shiver through her. 

Chris moved around her toward their bags. "Why don't you take the bathroom first?" he suggested, offhand, like orienting around each other at the end of the day was an old habit. 

"Thanks," Michael said, spurring herself on and grabbing her nightclothes and toiletries from her bag. She stepped into the bathroom, exhaling in relief as she closed the door behind her. It wasn't that she wanted to be away from him; it was that she _didn't_. 

She slipped out of her dress quickly—a benefit she hadn't anticipated—changing into her sleep pants and shirt, then performing her nightly ablutions. 

When she moved back out to their room, the lights were lower, Chris having turned down the bed—stacking the decorative pillows to the side, pulling the coverings away. Something about it made her flush. 

He stood looking out the window, his jacket, vest, and tie gone, his collar unbuttoned, his feet bare. The intimacy of him half-dressed hit her somewhere low, nothing she would have expected. He was still perfectly respectable, just...mussed. Worn from a long day. Michael felt like she was getting a look at something private, oddly moved by it. Only his intimates saw this. 

His intimates and now Michael. She didn't know how to feel about that. 

Chris sensed her and turned. He smiled a little, clearly delighted by something. He tipped his head toward the window. "Look."

Michael moved to him, peering out the window, curious. Cantara was lit up at night, beautiful and delicate. Above the city, a broad expanse of stars twinkled, totally foreign to her. As all skies were, really. She shook her head as she looked to him. "Can you imagine? Seeing the same sky night after night?"

Chris shrugged, something meditative about it. "I used to stargaze as a kid. Picking out the constellations. It was nice."

Michael smiled. "Of course you did."

Chris leveled her with a _look_. "Should I be offended?"

"Ever the explorer," she said, some kind of warmth seeping into her voice.

Chris studied her, a new intensity around his eyes—

A flash of light turned her gaze back to the window, a meteorite streaking across the sky with a trail of fire. 

"There it is," he murmured, pleased. "Quick, make a wish."

Michael looked at him flatly. "Wishing on a shooting star is illogical."

"Humor me," he said, indulgent. 

_I wish this were real_, floated through her mind, unbidden. Michael looked back to the meteorite, just finishing its arc. 

"I hope it comes true," he said, a genuine note to it, like he really did. 

Michael blinked and looked back at him, reminded of just _what _she'd thought. Not what she'd wished for, of course. That would be illogical. "Sometimes I don't understand you," she murmured. 

Chris' smile turned wry. "I contain multitudes." 

Michael had nothing to say to that, so she simply nodded. "The bathroom's free."

"Thanks," he said, stepping away.

"Chris." He paused as he looked back at her. "What did you wish?"

His expression warmed, sending an echoing flare through her. "Hey now. Wouldn't want to jinx it."

***

Chris returned wearing sleep pants and a shirt, the _Discovery_ logo stenciled on both. Michael was glad to know they held similar philosophies about nightclothes. She didn't expect him to come back half-naked or anything...but one never knew. 

She wasn't disappointed. Not at all. 

He climbed in on the other side of the really very large bed, lots of space to share. There was no reason for her heart to be pounding as it was. 

Michael shook herself. She was being ridiculous. 

Chris curled on his side, facing toward her. "Goodnight, Michael."

Michael smiled, nodding in return. Then she called out, "Lights." And the room went to black. 

In the dark, his soft breaths filled the air, somehow _more_ distracting than the cacophony of Tilly.

Sleep eluded her for a while. 

***

Michael hadn't expected to sleep, so she woke with a surprise, light just edging through the closed curtains, brightening the room slowly. She was on her side, still facing Chris, but the distance between them had shrunk. Their hands rested in the little well of space between them, fingers just touching, a warm point of contact. 

It was such a tiny thing, Michael couldn't understand why it shook her. 

She had _never_ slept with anyone like this, sharing space in a bed outside of sex. She never even imagined it. Some people were focused on finding a partner, someone they could come home to at the end of shift, someone they could share these types of moments with. She had never been one of them. She had her studies and then her career (and then her prison sentence); it had never been a priority. 

Ash had been the first man who made her consider something more...but that imploded so spectacularly it only deepened Michael's resolve. Some people were meant for relationships; she wasn't one of them. And that was...fine, really. Her upbringing was so foreign to everyone, her intellect so intimidating. Besides, she had her work. 

So this soft feeling at seeing their hands touch...it didn't make sense. She understood wanting to sleep with Chris, as uncomfortable as that made her. Sex was a biological process; such urges were natural, if a chore to set aside. This desire to be close, outside of anything sexual, was odd. She wanted to press close and feel him wake him up. She wanted know what he was thinking. And yes, she wanted to sleep with him, but that was distant, less urgent than the rest. The whole thing was deeply unsettling. 

Chris' eyelashes fluttered, breathing in as he woke. His lips curled when he caught sight of her, seeming unbothered by their positions. "Morning," he said, voice rough. 

_That_ woke her body up to what it wanted. Which at least made sense. "Hi."

"Did you sleep?"

Michael nodded. It seemed to please Chris. He scratched a hand through his hair, then stretched, the covers moving over the long line of his body. It prickled awareness along Michael's spine. 

Searching for something to say, some kind of distraction to the intimacy of this, she offered, "The itinerary doesn't have anything listed before mid-morning."

Chris nodded. "They probably figured we'd all be hungover. Or still drunk."

"Or with company," she added, thinking of Leera, of her invitation to touch. 

Chris inclined his head. "They didn't count on us, I bet." He shrugged. "I thought we might explore a little, take a look around."

Michael nodded. "I'd like that."

***

Which was how Michael found herself walking beside him through a picturesque, palatial garden, the well-tended paths clearly meant for this purpose. The plantlife bloomed fierce and bright—everything from riotous flowers to sprawling trees, somehow both wild and tamed at once. 

Michael shook her head as they passed under another tree, its flower-laden branches falling around them like tendrils. The blooms glowed a soft white, as if lit from within. "This isn't what I expected," she said, touching one of the petals carefully. A tiny bit of pollen transferred to the tips of her fingers, glowing softly. She rubbed it between her fingers, thoughtful. 

Chris watched her, a sparkle in his eyes. "You thought it'd be a nightmare hellscape befitting people who would auction off a death machine?"

Michael smiled against her will. "Maybe."

"Right there with you." He looked out at the expansive garden, marveling a little. "All this...you have to value beauty. Life."

That resonated within her, the same thing she'd been sensing. "But as you pointed out, hypocrisy isn't unexpected. And we haven't seen anything beyond this compound."

Chris nodded. "I know we can't apply our moral lens to other cultures, but the Cantarans confound me. That scene last night..." He shook his head. 

Michael studied him, a shade surprised. "That really bothered you."

"I'm searching for consistency here."

She narrowed her eyes, thinking it through. "You admired something about their professed ideals and feel let down," she guessed. 

Chris tilted his head, half-agreeing, half-considering. "There's something to appreciate in a culture that prioritizes partnership. Love," he added, eyes steady on her. 

"And dalliances with nubile young Leeras fall outside those bounds."

Chris shot her a look. "Fine, call me a traditionalist."

Michael smiled a little. "Monogamy isn't even particularly successful among humans."

"We can aspire to a higher standard," he insisted. "It's about loyalty."

She took him in, fond. He caught her look, shaking his head, exasperated. "What?"

Michael held out her hands. "Nothing. It's very...you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Should I be insulted?"

"Your ideals aren't negotiable. What you believe, you believe. Any violation of those ideals doesn't sit well. It's...admirable."

That seemed to settle him, the lines around his eyes relaxing. "It's hard sometimes," he said, like it was an admission. "When few others seem to care." In it she could see a shade of exhaustion, the toll it took to hold himself to his own standards. 

Michael stepped closer, hand going to his arm and squeezing, supportive. "Some do."

Chris' eyes held hers, a glint of appreciation there. His lips curled, just slight, but enough. 

Michael smiled back, then stepped away again, her hand tingling. "Come on. We should get to breakfast."

He nodded and followed. 

***

As they crested the rise leading back to the palace, Michael spotted a foursome, also making their way inside. Seelak and Illiana's purple robes were instantly recognizable. So was Stella's long red hair, swaying in the slight breeze, Mudd by her side. They all held glasses of something amber, Seelak and Mudd doubling over in laughter as the women looked on in mock disapproval. 

Michael shot a look to Chris. "They look chummy."

"Savvy move," Chris said, shaking his head a little. "Play the man."

"It would be illogical to value a bid higher because of a personal connection," Michael pointed out. 

"People like dealing with those they like," he shot back.

"Do you regret holding up that mirror?" she asked, echoing him from the night before.

Chris looked to her, measuring. He slowly shook his head. "No. I stand by it. Mudd can ingratiate himself all he wants. If we won by being disingenuous, it wouldn't be a win at all."

Michael inclined her head, once again struck by his sense of honor. He really was something. 

"Come on," he said. "If we're going to be the black sheep, at least we can be well fed."

*** 

They were left to their own devices for breakfast, reconvening in the great hall near midday. Seelak and Illiana were already there, the subject of much focus. The others seemed to have the same idea as Mudd: get in good with the people making the decision. 

Chris simply raised an amused eyebrow at it and stood off to the side. 

Eventually, Illiana addressed the larger group, raising her hands for quiet. "Next is what you're all here for, I'm sure: a demonstration." A pleased murmur swept through the crowd. Michael looked to Chris, a different sort of tension within him. At least now they'd know what they were dealing with. 

"If everyone would please follow us," Seelak added, gesturing them out the main doors. 

Chris held out a hand for Michael, gesturing her onward, falling into step beside her. She found it odd, but didn't comment, following the rest of the crowd out the doors, through the halls, and outside to one of the many open meadows they had passed that morning. 

Only now, the meadow was filled with a flock of some kind of animal—the size of sheep, but covered with purple feathers, almost bird-like except they had no wings, rounded muzzles instead of beaks. They milled about, nuzzling one another, lazing in the bright sun. 

Michael suddenly had a bad feeling. 

Seelak and Illiana gestured everyone forward, stretched out in a line along the path that bisected the meadow. "They're called ekins," Illiana said, "A species ubiquitous on our planet. They're generally harmless, although they do tend to overbreed in lush areas."

"It's murder on the local plantlife," Seelak added, some distaste with that. He snapped his fingers and two attendants rushed forward, carrying a heavy case. They opened it for Seelak, showing off a sleek metal contraption inside, the width of two PADDs, but deep, a few feet tall. "We've pre-loaded this with the relevant sample for simplicity's sake, but rest assured that it can be tailored to whatever you need."

Seelak reached down, activating a small panel on top of the contraption, punching in some kind of sequence. He looked to their group. "Everyone paying attention?"

A round of nods and Seelak was satisfied, hitting one final command—

A loud piercing tone rang out, stilling everything. En masse, the ekins trembled—

—and _dissolved into ash_. 

Michael blinked, not quite believing it. There was no other damage to anything, not plants or infrastructure. One moment the ekins were grazing and the next, they were gone. Piles of dust swirled in the wind where the animals once stood.

Michael's eyes swung to Chris', his concern mirroring her own. He shook his head once, horrified. She looked around to the others—

Their reactions were different. The Romulans looked at each other with relish, like they were already envisioning how to use this. The Tellarites guffawed. And Mudd—he stepped forward onto the meadow, his mouth open in awe. 

Illiana spoke out then, after the initial reaction had quieted: "As you can see, the weapon can be strictly targeted, without any loss to property or other life. There are geographic limits, of course, but those technical details will remain confidential for everyone but the winner."

Michael stepped close to Chris, worried now. "No one else can get this."

He nodded, troubled.

That was when Seelak stepped up, charming smile in place. "Who's ready for lunch?"

***

Michael picked at her food, uninterested. A quick glance showed Chris in a similar state, his brow still furrowed. 

Theirs were the only such reactions. Around them, the rest of the group happily dug in, like they hadn't watched a herd of innocent animals up and obliterated before them. 

On some level, Michael knew that this feeling was a good thing. Their humanity, their empathy, was intact. 

On another level, that they were the only ones feeling it made a small part of her shrink in despair. 

As if he could read her thoughts, Chris' hand covered hers, squeezing tight. Michael looked to him, smiling, thin. She leaned close. "They don't care."

"No, they don't," he agreed, dark. 

Michael shook her head. "It eludes me."

Chris' eyes softened. "I know. Me, too."

***

After lunch, Illiana announced she had a treat for the female bidders—a purification ritual, an honored tradition of highborn Cantarans. Michael agreed to join in, not particularly eager, but taking in their cultural practices was part of her mission. At the very least she could write up a section on elite cultural practices for Starfleet Command. The process of it pushed the weapon demonstration out of her mind, focusing her on something else, for which she was grateful.

They'd each be given their own small room with a female attendant, in what seemed like their version of a spa. As Michael waited for her attendant, she noticed Stella, also waiting. Her expression seemed blank, like she was in her own world. 

Michael moved to her aside, catching her eye. "You okay?"

"What? Oh, yes. Of course," Stella said, smiling like she'd been caught at something and wished she hadn't. 

"How's married life?" Michael asked, studying the young woman. 

Stella swallowed. "More complicated than I thought," she admitted, like she needed to tell _someone_ and Michael was as good as any. 

Michael nodded. "Are you happy?" 

Stella looked away, her smile more of a grimace than anything. "Have you ever loved someone you shouldn't?"

"No," Michael answered honestly. She'd loved Ash, but she'd loved the human side of him. Once she'd understood what he truly was, what he'd kept from her, it had all gone cold. 

Stella nodded, like she expected that. "Don't."

Michael took her arm, comforting. "You don't have to stay."

"I know you won't understand, but the good times—" She smiled a little, this time genuine. "They outweigh the bad."

"But should you have to compromise?" Michael asked, soft.

Stella shrugged, her brown eyes resigned. "I made my choice. For better or worse, right?" 

An attendant approached them then, dressed in nondescript robes, hair secured tightly in a bun. She bowed slightly. "Your room is ready, Mrs. Mudd."

Stella nodded. She smiled at Michael, offering a quiet, "Thanks," before moving away, following the attendant. Michael watched her go, inexplicably sad for a woman she didn't even know. 

"Commander Burnham, your room is ready," another attendant said, waiting patiently. 

Michael nodded. "Thank you."

***

Michael studied her hand, the reddish-gold mud reflecting the light back at her, glowing softly. She was immersed in a tub of it, her room small, but pleasant. Some kind of incense burned in the corner, soothing abstract art on the walls, the large tub taking up the center. 

The attendant—Zela—had told her that soaking in the mud was supposed to repair and rejuvenate the epidermis, a claim for which Michael would like to see some data, but she didn't argue. 

The mud was heavy, almost slippery, clinging to her skin in a kind of sensuous slide that made her think of Chris. She wondered what he would think of this. She wondered what it would feel like if he were trailing his fingers through it, over her skin, eyes hot on hers. Michael shivered, suddenly wanting that—Chris here, touching her. 

Zela quietly approaching and bowing a little got Michael's attention. "The purification is complete."

"Thank you, Zela."

Zela's gray eyes snapped to hers, like she was startled at the use of her name, before she nodded and tapped a command into the side of the tub. Michael felt a shift underneath her, the mud level starting to lower as it drained out. Zela looked back to her. "I will return to help with your cleansing."

She bowed again and quietly walked out, leaving Michael to slump back and sigh as the mud level continued to lower. As it drained out, it left a thin layer all over her skin, still glowing, almost like she had been bronzed. The thought made her smile. 

After several long moments, the door opened and Michael looked back at Zela returning..._Chris_ right behind her. 

Michael flushed as his presence _slammed_ home. With the mud now completely gone, she was clad only in the thinnest of layers, leaving little to the imagination. While she wasn't uncomfortable with nudity, being naked in front of Chris was something else entirely, reminding her how _much_ she wanted to be naked with him in an entirely different way. 

Chris' eyes stayed steady on hers, never dipping below her face as he approached. He carried a small glass, a shimmery green liquid within. When he got to the tub, he kneeled down, putting them on a more even footing, one corner of his mouth curling in acknowledgment, a nonverbal, _well, this is a thing_. 

It eased something in Michael. Slightly. 

"Hey," she said, an implied question to it. 

"Hey yourself." He held the glass out to her, nodding for her to take it. "I'm told the final step of the purification is a drink and a kiss from your beloved."

Michael blinked, clocking how his eyes had gone soft in a kind of apology. He clearly hadn't known either. 

But, of course, it made sense that they wouldn't have mentioned it. For a bonded pair, what would it matter? Kissing and casual nudity wouldn't be unusual. 

She took the glass, tipping it in the light, studying the dark green liquid inside. "What is it?"

Chris stilled, a faint frown appearing. He must not have asked. 

Michael ignored the idea that he might have been preoccupied with...other things. 

They both looked to Zela then. "Do you know what this is?" Michael asked, tone inquiring. 

Again, Zela looked faintly surprised to be addressed directly, but nodded, the ridges in her brow rising in reassurance. "It's a rejuvenating tonic to replace the toxins that have been drawn from the skin."

Chris looked back at Michael, clocking her expression. Amusement sparkled in his eyes. "It kills you not to have supporting data, doesn't it?"

"Desperately," she shot back. 

His expression went fond. "Just like a science officer."

"Well, I would hope so," Michael said, disapproving. What science officer worth anything would accept such pronouncements without evidence? It was unseemly. 

Chris laughed, light, once. "Or you could take it on faith."

"Yes, that sounds like me," she said, dry. Still, she saluted him with the glass and drained it, swallowing quickly. The liquid had a faint tangy taste, followed by a cooling bite, almost like the hot burn of mint. Michael breathed out quickly, her mouth feeling strange. It wasn't...unpleasant. 

Chris smiled a little and pressed careful fingers to her cheek, reminding her of the other part of this: a kiss from her beloved. With Zela's eyes on them, it wasn't like they could refuse. So Michael tilted her head, inviting. Chris read it, eyes warming before he leaned in and pressed their mouths together. 

This kiss was different than their first, purposeful in a way that hadn't been. And sweet, Michael keeping her mouth soft and open, Chris doing the same. Despite that, it still sent heat zinging through her, reminding her that she was really very naked and he was _right there_. She grasped at his chin, sinking further into the kiss, helpless to resist. He was skilled, mouth lush and inviting. She wanted to know what this kind of kiss meant. 

She wanted it to be real. 

But then it was over, Chris pulling back, that darkness in his eyes again. He blinked and it was gone, a wry quirk of his lips putting some distance between them and the moment.

Michael clocked the stripe of mud her fingers had left on his chin, swallowing the embarrassment. "I got some—" She gestured to his face, Chris reaching up to brush at the mud. 

He shrugged. "Small price to pay." He swallowed, looking away for a moment, gathering himself. When he looked back, his expression was controlled again. 

Michael hated it, just a little. 

"I'll leave you to get cleaned up," he said, soft. 

"Thank you," she said, not sure what she was thanking him for. Leaving? She really didn't want that. The kiss? She...shut that thought down. 

With a nod, Chris stood and turned, eyes never dropping to her body, the mud starting to dry on her skin and crack a little. Michael watched as he walked out, tipping his head respectfully at Zela as he did. 

Zela turned to watch him go, smiling a little. Then she looked back to Michael, dipping her head. "Your beloved holds you in high regard."

It warmed something in Michael even though a stranger's opinion shouldn't affect her so. "As I do him."

Zela looked touched for a moment. Then she shook it off, dropping her eyes, submissive. "I will help you cleanse," she said, stepping forward to press a different set of commands into the tub. 

Michael sat back and sighed, ignoring the part of her that wished Chris would come back and help with that. It wasn't real, she repeated to herself. She couldn't forget that. 

Even if she wanted to. 

***

After Zela had helped her clean off the mud, Michael walked into their quarters to find Chris buttoning a formal dress shirt, frowning. Spotting her, he shook his head, rueful. "I have never been so glad the Federation is past the notion of dressing for dinner." 

His pants were black this time, a black bowtie laid out on the bed. Apparently he was going full classic tuxedo tonight. 

Michael swallowed. "Our loss," she said without thought. Then she stilled. 

So did he, fingers pausing halfway up his shirt as his eyes flew to hers. She could see the skin of his chest through his hands. She wanted to reach out and touch. 

Michael clenched her fist. Where _had _her control gone?

She cleared her throat and moved to her bag. "You all done in the bathroom?"

"All yours," he said, shaking the moment off and returning to his buttoning. 

Michael kept her eyes on her own things. No need to...tempt herself. "Great. I won't be long."

***

Damn Tilly. Michael turned to look at her back in the bathroom mirror, twisting her arm again, trying to get to the zipper on her dress—

To no avail. It was out of her reach, too small to grasp and stuck in the very middle of her back. She needed help. 

She needed _Chris_. Michael studiously ignored the many ways that thought affected her. 

She adjusted the dress, making sure the red of the fabric covered her breasts. The good news was this dress had a back to it, even if she couldn't zip it up. The bad news was that it dipped low in front, a deep-V that required the dress being zipped tight to be decent. If even then. 

But she wasn't thinking about that. 

Michael held the dress close to her chest so it didn't fall down, then stepped out of the bathroom. 

Chris stood by the window again, his gaze far-off. He was fully-dressed now, the black tuxedo making him look classic and handsome. Michael took him in for a moment, committing this to memory. A sight to behold, _want _echoing through her. She wished she could have this. She wished it were more than just a fantasy. 

But that was illogical. They had a job to do. 

Michael made a soft sound to get his attention. 

Chris looked up, surprise lighting his face as he took her in, dress limp around her. She flushed a little, but forged ahead. "Can you...help me?"

He seemed to shake himself, striding to her. "Of course."

Michael moved back into the bathroom, Chris following. She looked over her shoulder as his eyes studied the back of her dress. "I can't reach—"

"So I see," he murmured, hands moving to the dress, holding the fabric together, his fingers hot on her naked skin. Of course she couldn't wear underwear with this dress. 

Damn Tilly. 

Chris smoothly zipped it up, the fabric cinching tight around her as he did, finally settling in place as he reached the back of her neck. She let her arms drop, shifting the bodice a bit—

And clocking his startled look in the mirror. She looked at herself, seeing what he saw—

The rich red fabric plunged all the way down to her navel, showing off her cleavage. The material faintly shimmered as she breathed, draping over the line of her body, emphasizing the curve of her waist to her hips, then falling from there. While the neckline was low, it swept up into a high collar that flared around the back of her neck, emphasizing the line of her jaw and cheekbones. It was formal, yet a shade provocative. Enticing. 

It was also his _favorite color_. 

And with that thought, Michael flushed. 

Chris seemed to sense it, clearing his throat and stepping back. "Ready to go?" he asked, eyes holding hers in the mirror. 

Michael nodded, fighting the heat inside her. "Thanks."

***

Dinner was a kind of torture, Michael hyperfocused on everything Chris did—every move he made, every word he spoke, every time he smiled thinly at the Tellarites across the table. But the specifics instantly flew from Michael's mind, like she hadn't even heard, too distracted by her own reaction. She'd never felt anything like this. It was _maddening_.

Much like the previous evening, music eventually started up, Seelak leading Illiana onto the dance floor. Other couples followed, Chris holding out a hand to her again, this time wordless.

Michael took his hand, gasping a little at the spark that traveled through her at the touch. Chris didn't seem to notice, helping her up, sweeping her into his arms. 

She pressed herself against him, not so much moving as just touching, mind blanking at sudden sensory overload. It was like her skin was electrified; even just the pressure of him against her sent shockwaves through her, some kind of all-encompassing bliss making her head swim. 

Chris moved her in a slow circle, but it was tentative, his touch careful. Even that was enough to make her half-dizzy, drunk on all this new _feeling_. 

Michael nuzzled into his shoulder, feeling the rasp of his jacket against her nose, a delightful tickle. 

"Michael?" he asked, low, her name shivering through her, its own kind of sensation. 

She leaned into the heat of him, fingers moving up to trace along his jaw to his lips, every cell in her body yearning for him. 

Chris swallowed, eyes dropping to her mouth, expression dazed. "Michael?" he asked again, more uncertainty there now. 

She shook herself, realizing she was _touching his mouth_. Michael snatched her hand away, a hot flush of embarrassment stabbing through her. What in all the stars was wrong with her?

Michael swallowed, realizing that no, this wasn't just the usual lust that had been plaguing her ever since this mission started. Ever since she saw him on that transporter pad, really. This was something else. "I feel...odd."

Chris stilled, eyes narrowing in concern. "Odd how?"

Michael clenched her jaw. She shook her head once, cataloguing her body's responses. First among them: she could not _fathom_ pulling away from him. While she normally might not want to, the need to stay in his arms was never this...urgent. 

"Elevated heart rate and breathing, some kind of fine muscle tremor in my extremities, I feel hot, and I seem to be...responding to your presence rather strongly," she said, trying to detach herself from her emotions. It wasn't working very well. 

Chris tensed, which Michael could _feel_ since they were still pressed together. His eyes roamed over her face, concerned. "Your pupils are dilated. When did you start feeling this way?"

Michael tried to concentrate. Her skin had buzzed all throughout dinner, but it didn't start there. No, the first spark had been when she saw him getting dressed. That thoughtless heat loosening her tongue. 

"When I came back from the purification."

Chris' eyes flickered. "That drink," he said, voice lowering, a bite to it. 

Michael shivered, a _wildly_ inappropriate reaction...but undeniable. "You think something was in it?"

Chris looked around the room, taking in the other couples. Michael followed his look, trying to ignore how she felt and take them in. Many were closer than they were last night, some nuzzling each other, but no one seemed in distress. Chris' gaze finally zeroed in on Illiana. "I think we should find out."

He took her hand, an ecstatic press of skin that shot straight through her, and ushered her over to Illiana, who smiled in welcome. "You both look lovely tonight," she complimented. 

"As do you," Chris said, stiff, and Michael abruptly realized she did. Illiana had lost her usual purple robes, clad only in an elaborate gold dress, the material made up of tiny hand-woven links draping over her figure, emphasizing her curves. Her hair was intricately curled, half up and the bottom half trailing over her shoulders, her gold makeup bold and attention-grabbing.

"That's kind of you to say," she said, modest. 

Chris brushed past it, a stiff line to his body that Michael suddenly wanted to _feel_. She stroked his wrist, marveling at the press of skin on skin, a little revelation. He glanced down at her hand briefly before he looked back to Illiana. "Michael is feeling a little off tonight, ever since the purification. Is it possible there was something in the process that could have affected her?" 

Illiana fluttered her eyelashes, almost coy. "The restorative has been known to...stoke passions."

If possible, Chris stiffened even more. "That would imply it contained something mind-altering." 

Illiana made a dismissive gesture. "Why, that makes it sound sinister. The drink is a mix of minerals and other substances that increase pleasure and relaxation. It's meant to make you feel good." Illiana looked to Michael. "Don't you feel good, my dear?"

Michael blinked, eyes heavy. Chris would make her feel good. 

"I feel...different," she offered, trying to keep her focus, all her senses intent on where her hand still held his wrist. 

Chris picked up the thread. "For us it's considered necessary to inform someone before giving them anything that would alter their ability to think clearly."

Illiana frowned. "Fascinating." She tipped her head. "My apologies for the transgression."

"How long do the effects usually last?" Michael asked, wondering when it would wear off and she could stop thinking about peeling Chris out of his clothes and rubbing against him.

Among other things. 

"A few hours, though of course everyone is different."

Chris raised one eyebrow, not pleased. "In that case, is there another room I can take for tonight?"

Illiana cocked her head, her frown flexing the ridges on her forehead. "I don't understand," she said, seeming taken aback. "You're bonded. Surely you're...intimate." 

That piqued Michael's interest enough to pull her focus away from Chris. "In your culture, does bonding confer blanket consent?"

"It's no longer a question. You've committed to one another," Illiana explained, like this should be obvious. 

Michael considered that, though she got distracted by how Chris turned to her, his expression half-amazed, half-amused. "You get dosed and want to explore the cultural implications?" he asked.

"Better than the other things I want to explore," she muttered. Chris actually smiled a little at that. 

Illiana watched them, cautious. "Things are...different for you?" 

Chris sobered. "No matter the relationship status, consent can be revoked by any party at any time. Implied in that is the ability to _give_ consent. If Michael's judgment has been impaired, she can't. And I would never put her in a situation where something questionable might happen." 

Illiana studied him, almost like he was a curiosity. "Are you typical of your species?"

"He's the best of men," Michael said, stroking his wrist again, pressing her body to his side, pleasure lighting up everywhere they touched. 

Chris looked to her, eyes warm. "High praise for clearing the lowest bar."

Michael swayed toward him, the sheer focus of her attraction swamping her. 

Chris stiffened and looked back to Illiana. "About that room."

***

They found him another room. As Chris walked her back to hers, Michael distracted herself with the data file on the drink they'd given her, noting the chemical structure of the components. "I'll need to compare these profiles to what we have on file once we get back to the ship," she said, wishing she had access to their databanks right now. 

"I can't believe they didn't even mention it," Chris muttered, clearly still bothered by that. 

Fondness swelled through her. He was so...good. She swayed into him, her senses lighting up at even the barest brush of their bodies. "It was a misunderstanding. They're commonplace when cultures are unfamiliar with one another."

Chris flicked his eyes to her, then away again. "No offense here, but let's see how forgiving you are when you're not high as a kite."

He opened the door to her room, ushering her in. Michael looked around, the low lights of the lamps dazzling to her eyes, utterly beautiful in the dark of night. 

"I'm just down the hall if you need me," he murmured, moving past her to get his bag, the pools of light cast by the lamps highlighting his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. Striking and handsome. 

She trailed after him, eyes drinking him in. The whisper of her dress over her body was a kind of tease, sensation crawling through her. She'd never felt anything like this. Part of her considered what it would feel like to do it purposefully, with the one you loved. Michael wasn't one for mind-altering substances, but now...she could understand it. 

Chris picking up his bag sparked a memory. She reached her hand to the back of her neck, where her dress stopped and skin began, reveling in her own touch. "Can you—" 

Chris' eyes widened as he took her in. He froze for a beat—

And then shook it off. He seemed to understand her meaning, some kind of conflict blooming in his eyes before he nodded and set his bag down. He moved close, stepping behind her so he could bring his fingers to the zipper on her dress.

The touch of his fingers against her skin made her gasp, even if he did instantly minimize contact, carefully lowering the zipper on her dress, the fabric loosening around her. She felt air on her naked back, like a kind of release, and Michael gasped again, clutching the dress to her so it didn't fall. Her nipples hardened, the stimulation of the fabric almost overwhelming. She couldn't help but lean back against Chris, his hands trapped against the skin there.

"Michael..." he said, a low protest, and she swore she could feel the vibrations of the sound in the air, echoing pleasure from her ears throughout her whole body. 

She turned, still pressing close, one hand moving to stroke his cheek. The faint rasp of stubble was its own kind of marvel, her fingertips vibrating at the feeling. "You are _amazing_," she breathed, pressing her mouth to his jaw, her lips rasping against his skin deliciously. 

Chris grasped her shoulders, making her gasp again, but he didn't react, holding her in place as he pulled just far enough away to meet her eyes. "This is the effect of the drugs, Michael," he reminded, his voice kind, but with an undercurrent to it that she wanted to roll around in. 

"No, it's you. Everything about you is amazing," she said, trying to press closer, wanting to feel him _everywhere_.

"Michael," he said again, this time in a tone that said_ no_. 

Something about that tone made her freeze, even as her body cried out in protest. She looked up into his dark eyes. "Stay with me," she said, not recognizing how low her voice had gone. 

He stared at her for a beat...and then he swallowed and looked away. "I'll see you in the morning."

With that, he grabbed his bag and was gone.

***

After he'd left, Michael stood for a while, skin still vibrating, holding her dress to her. Eventually, she got herself moving, everything slow and dreamlike. She changed into her pajamas, the different material eliciting all new sensations. Eventually she stretched out in the bed—_their bed_, her mind reminded—still feeling hot, her clothes and the covers swamping her in _feeling_. 

It got too hot, Michael pushing her pajamas off, the silky sheet feeling better on her skin. But she still tossed and turned, unable to sleep, her skin too sensitized, heat buzzing through her. It was more than just the sensation pooling between her thighs, she realized. Michael tried to focus, there was something else—

And then it clicked. She could _smell_ him, his presence so close, but so far, teasing at the back of her mind. 

Michael rolled over, to his side of the bed, conscious of it now. Unbidden, her hand drifted down her body, sparking fire along her naked skin. Her fingers moved to where the pleasure concentrated, between her legs, the touch sparking a new kind of heat within her, intense like she'd never felt when doing this. Michael's body shook uncontrollably as she touched herself, feeling how slick she was, how close. She'd barely done anything and she was already at the edge, her fingers moving faster, everything slippery and bright, feeling like bubbles of pleasure were bursting inside of her with every press of her fingertips.

She couldn't help but imagine Chris here, touching her, blue eyes dark and heavy on her skin. He would press her down and kiss her everywhere, mouth red and wet as he whispered, "You're beautiful." Michael cried out as she worked herself, desperate to have him with her, desperate to come, her body tight and hot. 

The orgasm was like nothing she'd ever felt, starbursts under her skin streaking pleasure through her. It lasted forever; it lasted a moment. Then she was back in her body, panting, muscles shaking, trying to bring the room back into focus. 

Want still flared within her, even after she'd come. The orgasm hadn't slaked the lust, only taken the edge off. 

It was a long night. 

***

"Hey." 

Michael stirred, satisfaction curling through her, something about that voice feeling _right_.

She woke slowly, unusual for her, the world coming into focus only by degrees. She was in bed—on Chris' side—the thin sheet covering her. 

She was also completely naked. And like _that_, memories of the night came back to her—getting dosed, propositioning Chris, him leaving, Michael alone in bed and touching herself, helpless before the pleasure of it. 

She flushed. She wasn't usually so...thorough.

Chris sat on the edge of the bed, calm. He was in uniform again, neat and correct. Morning light filtered in from the sheer shades, making Michael realize she must have slept. Eventually. 

That thought made her flush again. She struggled to keep her expression neutral. "Hi." She pulled the sheet around her more firmly, aware of how it outlined her body. Her pajama shirt was on the floor beside them; it was impossible to miss how very naked she was. Again. 

_How_ did this keep happening?

Chris didn't seem fazed. "How do you feel?"

Michael frowned, taking stock of herself. "Tired. My head's a little fuzzy." And when she shifted, she could feel a faint twinge between her legs. She may have overdone it. 

Not that she would be volunteering that information. 

He studied her face, the slight crease between his eyes easing as he looked. "Your pupils are back to normal."

Michael nodded. "I don't feel out of control anymore." She stiffened, once again remembering..._everything_. Touching his mouth. Asking him to stay. Her shameful lack of control. She frowned, meeting his eyes. "Sorry about—"

Chris held up a staying hand, shaking his head. "It's forgotten."

Something mutinous flared in Michael. She didn't want it to be forgotten; she wanted him to touch her back, to _want _her back, it was—

But no. This wasn't _real_. It was a mission. _They_ were a mission. She needed to remember that, no matter how she felt. 

Chris didn't seem to notice her internal turmoil. He just picked up her pajama shirt from the floor, setting it beside her with a sympathetic smile. "I'll let you clean up and then we can go to breakfast."

Relief swept through Michael that he wasn't going to question or push. "_Thank you_."

His smile warmed further, a glint to it that said he had an inkling as to what went on, but mercifully, he said nothing else.

Damn if that didn't make her want him _more_. 

***

Michael felt downright civilized by the time they got to the hall where they were serving breakfast—showered, back in her uniform, covered up and in control. 

They headed for seats, but a voice calling out, "Commander Burnham," caught their attention. 

It was Illiana, sitting with Seelak and beckoning them over. Michael shot Chris a look and obliged, smiling dutifully as they approached the pair, seated at the head of the long table. "Good morning."

"How are you, dear?" Illiana asked, a shade of concern still in her gray eyes. 

"I'm feeling much more myself. As you said, the effects lasted for some hours and then subsided."

"I'm relieved to hear that. Please," she said, gesturing them into the seats beside them.

Michael blinked in surprise, but Chris rolled with it, pulling her chair out for her—another oddity of his, but she went with it, settling in and watching as he took his own seat. Michael surreptitiously glanced around, clocking both the Romulans and Mudd taking an interest in their activities. 

As waiters put plates in front of them, Michael noticed Seelak studying her, eyes darting to Chris, and back again, seeming flummoxed. Finally, he spoke. "I was surprised when Illiana told me of your troubles last night. No one else indicated a problem."

Michael pondered at his meaning. Was he implying they made it up? That they were too sensitive? Or was it just idle conversation?

Chris smoothly intervened. "We should have clarified expectations before we found ourselves in the situation. It was a miscommunication; it happens."

Michael shot him a small smile, amused that he was echoing her own words. 

Seelak didn't seem satisfied. "But once you'd realized, I don't understand the isolation. I've had many such glorious nights with Illi." He sent Illiana a fond look. Something about his obvious affection softened Michael. They truly seemed to value love. 

Illiana patted his hand, equally fond. "Forgive my husband. He doesn't understand why it would be preferable to pleasure yourself, calling out for your beloved, rather than have him there."

Michael froze, the icy chill of embarrassment racing down her spine, too many thoughts tumbling through her at once. That was _very specific_. The only way they could know that was if their rooms were under surveillance. They'd been _watching_ her? And now _Chris knew_. 

At that thought, she looked over—

Chris was completely unruffled, eyes steady on Seelak. Either his poker face was brilliant or he wasn't surprised. Michael didn't know which one was worse: that he had no reaction or had already figured. She thought back to earlier, Chris with his knowing air, and she flushed anew.

Was there no _end_ to the embarrassment?

Chris shrugged. "If the situation had been planned, I could see your point. But since it was unexpected, it was best to make sure that there would be no regrets."

Seelak furrowed his brow, the ridges on his forehead tilting down, giving him an almost forbidding demeanor. "No one else raised this concern."

"Perhaps they didn't want to insult you," Chris offered, kind. 

Illiana tossed a sly smile at them. "Starfleet doesn't have that problem?"

Chris sent her a matching amused look. "I think we've so established."

Illiana laughed lightly, appreciative, though Seelak still hadn't emerged from his fog. His eyes moved to Michael, troubled. "Commander Burnham, please accept my sincerest apologies. I did not expect—given that everyone is bonded—we meant to provide a pleasurable experience, not cause any harm."

And then it clicked for Michael: Seelak felt bad, even if he didn't quite understand. 

She smiled at him, reassuring. "We were operating on different assumptions. While it was a surprise, we managed the situation and there was no harm done. Please don't trouble yourself."

Chris jumped in then, a hint of sternness to him. "Though in the future, it would be better to inform your guests of just what they're ingesting." Michael looked over at him, fascinated at how he insisted on holding them to the highest of standards, refusing to flatter or acquiesce, despite that they were hardly in the position of power here. 

Seelak tipped his head at Chris. "That is a fair request."

Illiana clapped her hands. "Well, now that that's settled, you must tell us of Earth. We've barely gotten to speak at all."

***

After breakfast, they were scheduled for a ship-bound tour of Cantara I, their homeworld. Michael stood with Chris before the large bay windows as the ship flew them low over the scenery, taking in the vast forests, the dense urban sprawl, signs of industry and commerce, a seemingly bustling society. 

Seelak and Illiana pointed out highlights—monuments, natural wonders—clearly proud of their home. There was something pure in it, like they wanted to convey who they were as much as learning about everyone else. 

At one point, Michael glanced around at the other bidders, noting the reactions—once again, very different from hers. Most of the couples seemed bored, only paying the barest attention for politeness' sake. 

She nudged Chris, nodding for him to look. He frowned as he took in the others, expression going shadowed. Michael leaned close, speaking low. "How do people care about the destruction, but not what they've built?"

"By prioritizing what matters to them, I suppose," he said, tone voicing what he thought of that. 

That was when his attention got caught by something. Michael turned to look, finding the Romulans deep in conversation with Mudd. 

"That's a problem," Chris muttered. 

Privately, Michael agreed.

***

They returned to the palace for lunch, at the end of which they were to submit their final bids. Unlike the other meals, the air was tense, the parties eyeing each other with mistrust. Michael once again picked at her food, her stomach in knots. Not just because they'd have their answer soon, knowing whether they'd completed their mission successfully or not...but because it meant they were leaving. 

Michael had dreaded coming here, playing the happy couple in front of a bunch of arms dealers. But now, knowing what it could be like...

She looked over at Chris, calm as he always was, drinking from his glass. He caught her eye, smiling a little, a bright moment of connection even amidst the tension hanging over the room. 

Michael smiled back and looked down to her food. This was almost over. 

She was going to miss it. 

Those thoughts held her attention for the rest of the meal, Michael grounding herself in what it was like, before—was it really only three days ago?—wanting Chris, but keeping it in check, relishing the small moments before shoving them out of her mind, no point to it all. _Pining_, as Tilly would no doubt call it. 

She would have to find a way to put it behind her. Maybe the distance would help, she reasoned. Once she was away from the closeness, maybe the feeling of it would fade. It was so clear in her mind now because she was in the middle of it. Once it was in the past, the desperate _need_ for this connection would be...less. It had to be. 

Right?

Then the meal was over, the waiters taking their plates, as all attention turned back to the head of the table, where Seelak and Illiana had set up a thin kind of PADD, an interface where each couple could enter their bids. Illiana gestured to it, an invitation. "You're all welcome to place your bids, but know, they are not anonymous. They will be connected to the profiles we've already created for you in the system. Best wishes."

"Because you will be judged," Michael murmured, just for Chris. 

He tipped his head at her. "To be fair, they did warn us."

The Nausicaans stepped up first, looming and dour. Michael studied them as they input their bid, shaking her head a little. "Why would you want to partner with pirates?" she asked, mystified.

Chris nodded the point. "Best I can guess, if you know that currency is the only thing that matters, it makes priorities very clear."

"It means you can be betrayed for a higher bidder at any time."

He shrugged. "I didn't say it was a good guess."

Michael sighed, wishing she understood. "It just doesn't make sense."

They watched as the others placed their bids—Tellarites, Flaxians, Cardassians, Klingons, Orion. Many spoke to Seelak and Illiana, low, the Cantarans remaining more neutral than they'd been the whole trip. Michael wondered what that meant, too. 

When it was Mudd's turn, he stepped up and bowed to Seelak and Illiana, flowery and obsequious, announcing to all: "No matter what happens, it was the greatest of honors to meet you both and to see your beautiful home."

"How kind," Illiana said, though it seemed obligatory, the friendliness of earlier days gone. 

The Romulans went next, N'Mala and Timok nodding in barely-concealed disdain after they'd added their bid. "The Romulan Star Empire is strong. You would be lucky to have us as partners."

"As you've explained," Seelak said, neutral. 

The Romulans moved off, seeming satisfied in a way that Michael found highly dubious. They had a reputation as xenophobic, believing in their own superiority, but seeing it firsthand was something else. 

"How is being smugly superior a good strategy to win the bid?" Michael asked Chris, still speaking low. 

"You could say the same for us." Off her look, he explained. "Not the superiority, obviously, but it's not like I've been letting them off the hook. Most will flatter and ingratiate, so I suppose it's something different, at least. And some people do respond to being dismissed. Like the girl you can't catch; it just makes you want her more."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "Do you go around pursuing women who rebuff you?"

"Oh, yeah, chasing skirt is my highest priority," he said, dry, slanting a knowing look at her. 

"It was your simile," she pointed out. 

"Well, I did say I owed you one."

Michael couldn't help but smile, something inside her warming at the way he looked at her, affection lighting his blue eyes. Even if it was all for the mission, it _felt _real. 

It felt good. 

"Captain Pike," Illiana's voice cut in, breaking the moment, making them realize they were the last to bid, everyone else having entered theirs and gone. 

"Apologies," Chris said, standing, holding out a hand to help Michael up. 

She didn't need it, but she took it nonetheless, enjoying the touch. They had so little time now. 

Chris led her to the PADD, dropping her hand to enter Starfleet's offer. He nodded to Seelak and Illiana, respectful, then turned to go. Michael followed suit with a small smile. 

"Captain. Commander," Illiana called after them, still seated at the head of the great table.

They paused, surprised, turning back to her. "I didn't get a chance to ask, what did you think of the tour?" 

"You have a beautiful homeworld," Michael said, genuine. 

"Though I suspect you're mostly showing us the beautiful parts," Chris continued, like he was completing her thought. 

Michael looked at him askance, but Illiana just laughed. "It's true, we have our own troubles."

"As all worlds do," Chris allowed, gracious in that. 

Illiana smiled again, some kind of deeper meaning in it now. "Your charm lets you get away with a lot, doesn't it?"

"If telling the truth is getting away with something," he allowed. Michael sensed a hint of irony in that, given the lie they were leading, but you'd have to know Chris well to clock it. 

Illiana didn't. "It can be," she said, inscrutable. Then she nodded politely and turned to Seelak again. 

They took it as the dismissal it was, heading for the door. Michael looked at Chris after they passed through it, raising an eyebrow. "I honestly can't tell what you're doing."

"Going with my gut," he said, light. 

"A gut feeling is just reason in a hurry."

"Well, then I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually. Just let me know when you do. I'm curious, too."

***

As they waited for the closing ceremony, they gathered their belongings, readying to leave. Michael packed her dresses, fingers lingering on the silky green and red material, something complicated squeezing in her chest at seeing them again. At putting them away. She didn't know how to feel. 

Chris set his bag by the door, thoughtful. "Whatever happens, the intel from this has been invaluable," he said. "The Romulans, if nothing else."

"But that weapon in their hands..." she said, looking back at him from her own bag, still set on its stand. 

Chris went grim, nodding in agreement. "It's not ideal. I choose to put faith in the Cantarans seeing that, as well."

"You and your endless faith," she mused, taking him in. Though she didn't share that faith—_illogical_, her mind supplied—she could understand the appeal, especially when espoused by someone so honorable and true. 

That _thing _in her chest lurched again, it really landing on her: they were going home. This was over. 

Some instinct inside her rebelled, even as she knew how useless that was. She wanted to stay wrapped in this closeness. It wasn't even over and she already missed it. 

A chime interrupted them, a voice announcing over their comm system, "All guests, please return to the great hall."

Chris looked at her, smiling a little. "Showtime."

***

Seelak and Illiana stood on the raised landing, once again holding glasses for a toast. Waiters passed around more drinks, the bidders taking them more reluctantly this time. 

No one missed the increased security presence, those uniformed military personnel back in appearance, lining the halls. Armed. 

"That's a good sign," Chris muttered. 

"Smart," she countered. "There are going to be a lot of unhappy people in here soon."

A gong sounded, getting their attention once again, Seelak and Illiana looking to the crowd. They were less welcoming this time. Illiana addressed them: "A few days ago, we stood up here and welcomed you as new friends. Over that time, we've gotten to know you—who you are, what you value, who you love. And we must say...we are not impressed."

A murmur went through the crowd, couples looking at each other with unease. 

Once it had died down, Seelak picked up where she left off. "Your bids have been tabulated. Many of you were very generous, the Romulans most of all," he said, looking to N'Mala and Timok. They shot haughty, confident looks around the room. 

But Seelak wasn't done yet. "And yet still we find ourselves underwhelmed. As such, we have decided that we will not be selling our weapon. To anyone."

An angry cry rang out, the others reacting. Michael stilled, surprise slipping through her, even though this was relatively good for them. If Starfleet couldn't get the weapon, better that no one did. 

Mudd stepped forward, laughing a little, holding out his hands. "Please, my friends, please. You can't be serious. You can't have brought us all here only to send us away with nothing."

"Oh, we're very serious, indeed," Illiana said, something ice cold in her voice now. "And let it be known to your peoples," she said, speaking to everyone. "We are not to be trifled with. We have technology you can't even imagine. And we wish to be left _alone_."

The silence at that was utterly complete. Michael froze, senses tingling at the threat of it. A threat that felt absolutely _real_.

Satisfied that they all got the message, Seelak tipped his glass at them. "To new friends. And safe journeys."

Chris breathed out a laugh at that, looking to Michael. He leaned close, keeping his voice low. "You have to admire the power play," he said, echoing her own words. 

Michael shook her head. It certainly was something. 

***

A military escort accompanied each of the bidding pairs out, silent and intimidating. There was an order to it, each pair leaving in succession, having no contact with the others. Michael and Chris found themselves waiting in the nightclub from that first night, the last to leave since they were the last to arrive. 

Chris looked around, frowning in contemplation. "After all that, I wonder how much of this was real and how much was a test."

Michael considered. "Perhaps they were consistent after all," she offered, knowing how that had bothered him. 

"And just probing us," he mused. Then he smiled a little, almost impressed. "If so, it is clever."

The doors opened then, Seelak and Illiana entering, warmer than back in the hall, but only slightly. 

Chris nodded in greeting, holding himself still, ready for anything. "Proconsuls," he greeted, formal. 

"Captain," Illiana said, nodding back. "No doubt you were surprised by our decision."

Chris shrugged, nonchalant. "Not particularly."

Seelak narrowed his eyes at him. "Really."

He gestured around, at the room, the whole process. "It never made sense, all this. If you wanted to be paid, you could do that remotely. If you wanted a partner, you invited all the people who would stab you in the back." His lips curled, slightly mocking. "You espouse love and tempt us with sin."

"Not you, though," Illiana said, something pointed to that. "Devoted as you are."

Chris rocked back on his heels, nodding in understanding. "There it is. You think it's an act." Michael blinked, surprised. On one level they were right, of course. The two of them were here under false pretenses. But on another level, they were completely wrong. Chris really was all he claimed to be. 

"No one's that honorable," Seelak dismissed. 

Michael couldn't help it; she scoffed. Seelak and Illiana instantly looked to her. Well, since she had their attention...

"You don't know Captain Pike," she said, clipped. 

Chris shot her a warm look before he went steely, looking back to them. "The irony here is you did find a good partner, but because you assume the worst, you can't see it."

Illiana made an amused sound. "You just started a war with the Klingons."

Michael stiffened. It wasn't even metaphorical in her case. She _literally_ started the war. 

"We are not without our own conflicts, to be sure," Chris said, reasonable. "But Starfleet is about exploration. We don't seek war."

Seelak nodded. "On that we agree. But you should tell your superiors, we will defend ourselves."

"As will we," Chris said, implacable. 

"Then I do believe we understand each other." Illiana smiled, cool. "It was...interesting getting to know you. Of all our guests, you confounded us the most."

Chris inclined his head. "I take that as a compliment."

Illiana studied them. "That depends entirely on whose opinion you ask." She turned for the door. "Farewell. I doubt we will meet again."

With that, they were gone. Chris turned to Michael, shaking his head a little. Before he could say anything, an attendant arrived. "Your bags are stowed on your ship. If you'll follow me."

They did.

***

Michael stared, silent, as Chris piloted the shuttle, everything that had happened running through her mind, like an accusation. 

She only spoke once they'd cleared Cantaran airspace, moving to warp. "All that, for nothing," she said, soft. She felt wrung-out, her emotions taxed to their limits. And it _hurt_. The reality was landing on her, the fact that they were going back home, back to the distance and professionalism. Now that it was here, it hurt. 

Chris looked over to her. "Not for nothing," he said, equally soft. "Though it may be unorthodox, that was the first step in establishing diplomatic relations. We got their attention. That's a good thing. It means we have a shot at a safer future for everyone."

Of course he would see the upside in it, taking the good that was possible and setting aside the bad. Thinking of others, the future, their duty. That hurt, too. 

"Yeah," she said, knowing that her tone was giving away her internal turmoil. 

"You did well," Chris said, voice soothing, like he thought she needed reassurance. 

Michael scoffed. "They saw through us."

But he shook his head. "They were guessing. No one else doubted us by the end. Kissing me that first night to throw off suspicion was downright genius."

Michael swallowed, thinking back on that moment, the relief of being defended and the endless want mixing into a thing inside her that _needed_ him, that couldn't be controlled. And he thought it was a strategic move. 

She just nodded, saying nothing, not trusting her voice. 

Sensing her mood, he didn't say anything else, turning back to focus on the controls, on the stars streaming by. Still so in tune with her. 

It _hurt_. 

***

Michael had pulled the pieces of her control together by the time they reached the _Discovery_, still in position by the black cluster, studying its signals. She marveled a little that it had only been a few days. It felt like _everything _had changed. 

Chris ably landed the shuttle, powering down its systems and opening the ramp. He unbuckled his harness, waiting a beat for her to precede him, the little thing at the back of her mind that noted it finally demanding answers. She paused before moving to the ramp, curious. "You kept doing that. Letting me walk ahead of you. Why?"

He blinked, like that surprised him. "It's considerate," he said, slow. "Putting your partner first."

"Oh."

"I didn't mean to offend you," he said, cautious. 

"No, you didn't. I just—didn't expect it. No one's done that before."

Chris' expression softened. "You deserve it." 

Michael smiled, tight, and turned away. She didn't...need to think about that right now. 

***

Tilly was waiting at the bottom of the ramp, practically vibrating. She let out a joyful squeal when she saw Michael, rushing forward for a hug. "How was it?" she asked, overeager. "Did you guys win? Did they give you a moon? Are you royalty now?"

Chris smiled, ever-patient, as Michael pulled away from Tilly, something about her upbeat energy soothing. She was back home. Not everything was terrible. "It was fine, Tilly. And no. No moons. No royalty."

"Okay, but are you _really_ sure?" Tilly asked, like this might be debatable. 

Michael shook her head and laughed.

Chris took them in, amusement merging with affection. His eyes found Michael's, tilting his head toward the door and the greater ship. "Have Pollard check you out, then take twenty-four. Get me your report when you're up to it."

Michael nodded, once. "Thank you, sir."

***

"Thank you for that," Michael said to Tilly, low, after they parted ways with Chris and headed for medbay. Michael had her bag slung over her shoulder, everything in her just...tired. 

Tilly squeezed her arm, her exuberance gone. "The way you looked coming off that shuttle..." She shook her head. "Was it that bad?"

Michael stared straight ahead, putting one foot in front of the other, all she could focus on right now. "I don't know."

"Okay, but why do you need Pollard to check you out? Are you all right?" 

Michael could tell from her voice that she was worried, so she stopped, looking into Tilly's eyes. "I'm fine. It's just a precaution. Why don't you get back to work? We'll talk later."

Indecision flickered over Tilly's face. "I'm only agreeing because I can tell you want to be alone, but if you're not fine, we're gonna have words."

Michael smiled, appreciating how well Tilly knew her. "Thank you."

Tilly took her bag from her, pointed. "And I better hear all about the dresses," she said, like it was a deal-breaker. Michael smiled again, but Tilly just pointed at her. "I'm not kidding, Michael. Details. I want them. But, you know, later when you're not all—" She waved her hand at Michael's face—"this."

And with that, she was off. 

Not for the first time, Michael reflected that she was really lucky to have Tilly in her life. 

***

Pollard studied the PADD in her hand, brow furrowed as she reviewed it. Michael frowned from her biobed, worried now. "Your blood test shows only trace amounts of the drug in your system. We compared the profiles they gave you with our library and it looks like our closest analogue is a methylenedioxymethamphetamine derivative."

Michael shook her head. "Meaning?"

She looked up, frank. "They used to call it ecstasy, back in the day."

Michael blinked, not expecting that. But after a moment's consideration... "That sounds about right."

Before Pollard could say anything else, the ship pitched and rolled, another gravitational wave hitting. "We can get out of here anytime," Pollard muttered. Then she refocused on Michael, gesturing to her PADD. "They gave you this without informing you?" she asked, a judgment in that. 

She shrugged. "They have different ideas about certain things."

Pollard_ hmmed_ in that specifically unimpressed way of hers. It made Michael smile. "It's gone, right? I'm cleared for duty?"

"Of course that's what you care about. Yes, you're cleared for duty. And no, there are no lasting side effects. Unless..." Pollard paused, studying her. "Did you do...anything that I should know about while you were on this drug?" The way she asked it made plain her real question: _did you have crazy drugged-out sex with anyone while you were high out of your mind_?

She wished. 

"No," Michael said quickly, reassuring her with a look. "We figured out something was wrong and...isolated me."

Pollard's expression didn't waver, a shade of concern under her penetrating gaze. "Nothing else I need to examine?" she pressed.

"No, Tracy. I'm fine," Michael insisted, holding the look. 

Eventually, Pollard relented. "I'm releasing you, but if anything else comes up, I expect you to tell me."

Michael nodded, once. "Yes, ma'am."

She couldn't get out of there quick enough. 

***

"Wait. You felt him up while you were tripping balls and he _turned you down_?" Tilly asked, incredulous. 

Michael winced. "Could you be any more crass?"

"Yes," Tilly said instantly, nodding once. "For instance—"

Michael held up a hand. "Please don't."

"I'm just saying, that man has some iron self-control. Did he _see_ you in those dresses?"

"Yes, thanks for that. And as _I_ was saying, if he wanted—if you were right and he had some affections, he had plenty of opportunity to...let me know. And he didn't." 

But Tilly just frowned at her, like this was obvious. "Did you forget the part where you were tripping balls? Of course he wouldn't."

"I meant before that. Or after. Either way," Michael said, voice getting smaller the more she talked about it. 

"It was a mission," Tilly offered. "If anyone has a propriety thing about missions, I'd bet on Pike."

"It felt so real," Michael whispered, gaze going inward, remembering all the times he looked at her, touched her, all the closeness. Michael shook herself. "But it wasn't and I need to—I need to accept that. Go back to the way things were." The problem was she couldn't _imagine_ it. Even just the way she thought about him—how was she supposed to go back to thinking of him as 'Pike' with the memory of Chris dipping down to kiss her in the tub, mouth soft. 

"Why do I feel like there was more than you're telling me?" Tilly asked, eyes narrowed in thought. 

"It was...a lot," Michael said, tilting her head in acknowledgment of what she was keeping from Tilly. She just didn't have the wherewithal to go into some of it—_all_ the kissing, touching herself, the way he made her feel, like he'd reached inside her chest and rewired something vital. 

"In a good way?" Tilly asked, softening.

Something fragile inside Michael trembled at the question. "In a hard way," she admitted, loss swamping her. "He's a good man," she added. A man the likes of which she'd never meet again, she knew. There was some grief with that, she could acknowledge. She hadn't been looking for a partner; it was never a priority. So it was...challenging to find exactly what you didn't know you wanted, without being able to truly have it. 

"But, like, you don't _know_ that it was nothing to him. Maybe he felt it, too."

Michael thought of the way he'd talked about that first kiss. Her genius move. 

She shook her head, once. "That's a childish fantasy. I just...have to move on. It's okay. I've done it before," Michael said, thinking of Ash. That had hurt, too. 

Tilly didn't look convinced. "If you're sure."

***

Having a break helped, but Michael was eager to get back to her station and catch up with their research. She stepped onto the bridge, feeling the rightness of it, the sense of home. 

Chris looked up at her, captain's mask in place—cool and professional—nodding in greeting, then turning back to the panel on his chair. 

It was like getting dunked in cold water, abrupt and unexpected. She knew this would happen, expected it even, and it still threw her. 

It still _hurt_. 

But she swallowed it and moved to her station. She had work. She could always focus on the work. 

As she took in the latest readings, the ship rolled again, another gravitational wave hitting them. Everyone looked around, but no one really reacted, used to it. 

Chris turned to look at Michael. "How much longer do you guys need?"

Michael cross-referenced the readings before her, the computer churning through the continuous output of the black cluster, sorting the signals from noise. Nothing conclusive yet. "Approximately ten hours, sir. At that point, we'll have the necessary data."

"Very well." He turned back to the screen. 

Bryce looked up from his station then, getting attention. "Admiral Cornwell, sir."

Chris looked back, nodding. "Put her on screen."

"Actually, she's requesting a secure channel in your ready room, sir. You and Commander Burnham."

Chris rolled with it, nodding again. "Tell her we'll be there in a few. Burnham, with me."

He moved toward the turbolift, Michael joining him, matching his stride. The door opened as they approached, Chris pausing a beat to let her enter first—

Michael blinked, continuing forward automatically, even as heat swept through her, followed quickly by that sense of loss. What the hell did _that_ mean?

*** 

The Admiral was waiting when they entered his ready room, hands on her hips and intimidating, even in ghostly holo form. "Good job, both of you."

Chris nodded in thanks, tipping his head toward Michael. "I couldn't have done it without Commander Burnham. Her help was invaluable." Heat flushed through Michael at the praise, so unexpected. 

"Yes, I read your report." At that Michael stiffened, part of her suddenly _desperate_ to know what he'd said. But Cornwell didn't elaborate, continuing on: "This is to inform you that Starfleet is classifying your mission, level one. You are not to speak of it to anyone."

"The Admiralty really liked that section on the Romulans, huh?" Chris said, dry. 

"It raised a few eyebrows."

"You should keep an eye on Mudd," Michael offered, reminded of his conversation with them. "He's the type they'd use and he wouldn't know they were doing it."

"Chris said the same. We're on it." Michael warmed at the thought that they'd had the same read, so in sync. The Admiral looked to Chris again, frank. "You still think it was all bullshit?"

"The weapon's real enough, but they were never going to sell it. That was theater, to wave us off. Maybe scare us."

"Starfleet doesn't scare easy," she dismissed, brusque. "You may be contacted by the Admiralty in the future, if anything further develops. Be prepared for that." Chris nodded, accepting. Michael followed suit. 

Cornwell nodded back, clearly about to wrap it up, when Michael jumped in. "In case he was too modest to tell you, the Cantarans were impressed with Captain Pike," she said, because it needed to be. 

Cornwell looked at her evenly. "Aren't we all. Cornwell out."

With that, the holo-image of her blinked out, leaving Michael and Chris alone. He looked to her, _something_ in his eyes. "You didn't need to say that. I don't need praise."

"You deserve it," she said, holding his look, seeing the pleased flicker in his eyes before he shuttered it under professionalism again. 

"How are you?" he asked after a moment, voice softer than before. Intimate. 

Michael swallowed, trying to ignore the yearning within her. "I'm fine. Will that be all, sir?"

Chris nodded, but didn't say anything. Michael could feel his eyes on her back as she walked out. She didn't know what it meant. 

***

"Remember everything I said about the mission?" Michael asked Tilly at lunch, low. 

"Yeah..." Tilly said slowly, like this was a trap. 

"No, you don't."

Tilly's forehead furrowed in confusion. "Okay, you're being weird."

Michael leaned forward, checking to make sure no one was near enough to overhear them. "Starfleet has classified it. Level one."

"Oh, shit." Then Tilly clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry, sorry. Please tell me Saru isn't nearby," she muttered, looking around. 

Michael smiled, despite herself. "You're fine."

"Wait, does that mean we can't talk about your sexytimes with Pike? Because I'm not okay with that."

Michael startled. "There were no—there was none of that."

Tilly grinned, delighted. "Ha. I knew you weren't telling me the good stuff." She held up a hand. "Don't deny it. You have a tell."

"What tell?" Michael asked, worried. 

"Wouldn't be much use to me if I told you that, now would it?" Tilly asked reasonably. 

Michael breathed in slowly, calming her suddenly racing heart. "It wasn't anything like...that." She flushed at what Tilly was invariably thinking, she and Chris tangled up together, sweaty and sated. 

"But it was something," Tilly gathered, eyes narrowing. "And you're just going to give up on it?" Her voice held a plaintive note to it now. "Don't you want to know for sure?"

Michael had no answer to that.

***

She walked into the ready room later, spotting Chris studying the black cluster outside the window, thoughtful. He turned at her entrance, lips curling in welcome. 

She smiled in response, helpless to resist, even if it did sting to be alone with him. 

"Burnham," he greeted. 

Michael's smile dropped at the formality, but she forged ahead, moving to him, holding out a PADD. "The latest on the signal. Collecting readings for four successive days helped clarify the situation. It seems that it's not the same type of signal as our red bursts; the black cluster appears to be sucking in other signals, thus the confusion."

Chris studied the PADD, brow furrowing the way it did when he thought. "So just another dead-end."

"I'm afraid so. But at least we'll be able to add data about the black cluster to Starfleet's—"

A gravitational wave rocked the ship, sending Michael stumbling into Chris, who braced them both against the wall. Pressed against him, Chris' arm going around her, Michael _froze_. 

The wave passed quickly, the ship stabilizing, but Michael didn't move, rooted to the spot, her body lighting up at feeling him, mind flashing to too many things at once—his arms around her, dancing with him, _kissing_ him, endless thoughtless touches that she wanted _back_—

"Michael," Chris breathed, standing still against her, something almost pained in his voice. 

She looked up at him, seeing the shadow in his blue eyes. It made her brave. "I miss it," she said, quiet. 

Chris blinked. He didn't move his arm from around her, seeming frozen in the moment. Finally, he spoke: "Your relationships have been brief," he recited, some kind of implication in it. "You don't have much experience being...close," he said, echoing her words. He was paying closer attention than she'd realized.

Michael swallowed the hurting thing in her throat, finding her voice. "It wasn't just that. It was you." She brought a hand up to touch the corner of his mouth, surprise lingering there. "I always wanted you."

Something _cracked_ in his expression, almost hurting. He caught her hand, squeezing it. "I meant what I said at the start of this. I'm hopeless with artifice," he said, like a confession.

Her heart pounded in her chest as his meaning landed. "Yeah?" she asked, voice shaking, but needing the confirmation. 

"Yeah," he confirmed, low. "It was all real."

Relief swept through Michael, heady and freeing. It was real. "Me, too."

Chris nodded, arm firming around her, tugging her close—

And into a kiss, his mouth settling over hers, Michael making a soft noise as he pressed their lips together, want stirring in her again, even as part of her didn't believe this was happening. 

But it _was_. Chris slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her deeper, pulling her closer. His body was hard against her, unyielding, and Michael had a sudden flash of clarity—she wanted him on top of her, all that coiled strength pressing her down. She made a hungry noise into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip—

He gasped, mouth opening, the kiss turning hot. His tongue slid into her mouth, sure, and Michael's hands dug into his sides as lust _burned_ through her. He knew how to kiss.

Chris broke it off then, flushed, panting against her mouth. "Not to repeat myself, but we should probably save this for another venue."

Reality came back to her, Michael glancing around at the ready room. Where anyone could walk in at any time. "Right," she said, pulling back a little. 

Chris didn't let her go too far, holding on. "My quarters? Dinner?" he asked, a new kind of light in his eyes. Almost like...hope?

Michael nodded. "I'll be there."

***

She arrived at 1900, nerves tingling in anticipation. Before she could even press for entry, the doors slid open in front of her. Michael stilled in surprise. Chris must have programmed the system to let her in. He was...letting her in. 

Michael swallowed and took him up on it, stepping inside. She clocked the meal set out at his little table, several courses in evidence. He'd prepared.

The thought made her smile. 

"Hey," he said, gentle, moving toward her from the bedroom. He was in civilian clothes, relaxed pants and green long-sleeved shirt, somehow more attractive for all that it was careless. Michael realized she probably should have worn something else. 

She hadn't exactly been thinking about clothes. 

"Hi," she said, meeting him halfway, stepping into his arms. Now that she _could_. 

Chris pulled her in for a kiss, close-mouthed, but real. Michael kissed back, lingering, reveling in the feeling of his arms around her. In the fact that she got this. 

He pulled back slightly, nodding to the table. "Come on. We should eat while it's warm."

Michael didn't move, _hmming_ thoughtfully. She leaned up and kissed him again, sensation traveling from her lips all the way down her spine. She couldn't imagine stepping away. 

Chris quirked an eyebrow at her, half-puzzled, half-mischievous. "Or...not?"

"Maybe later," she agreed, leaning up for his mouth again. 

Just like that, he was on board. Chris fused their mouths together, hauling her against him. His tongue tangled with hers, passionate, and Michael moaned into the kiss, the heat between them ratcheting up a notch, sliding from her mouth down her body and pooling between her legs. She'd been thinking about this all afternoon. 

Well. For longer than that, really. 

He was breathing hard when he pulled back, his pupils already dilated. "What do you want?"

"Bed would be good," she murmured, pressing against him and taking his mouth again. He kissed her, messy and hot, as he shuffled them back toward the bedroom. They barely broke for air as they made their way to the bed, Michael running exploratory fingers over his chest, around to his back, finding only hard muscle, Chris leaning into her touch. 

She felt something soft at the back of her legs and then Chris tipped her down, Michael landing with a laugh. He smiled and crawled after her, settling beside her on the bed, mouth finding hers again. 

After more long kisses, warming her up everywhere, Chris pulled back again. He watched her steadily, one long finger pressed to her bottom lip. "I want to make you feel good," he said, voice low and full of sex. 

Lust swept through her, mind unable to grasp a single thing he could do right now that wouldn't qualify. "Yeah," she finally said, voice catching. 

"What would make you feel good, Michael?" he asked, eyes still steady on hers. 

Unbidden, her gaze dropped to his mouth, bruised from their kissing. She brushed her fingers over his lips, feeling him breathe out sharply against her fingertips, that little puff of heat somehow lighting her up even more. 

"I want your mouth," she decided.

Chris' eyes sparkled as he nipped at her fingers and nodded. "Then I think you better get naked."

Michael laughed and moved to comply, Chris following suit, the two of them scrambling out of their clothes and crashing back together, skin to skin. Chris kissed her, licking into her mouth, teasing, before starting a trail of kisses _down_, exploring her breasts, then her stomach, then lower. 

She jumped as he nipped at the skin just above her pubic hair, running his fingers through it and down, spreading her open. Michael barely had time to flush before he breathed _out_ against her, so wet for him. Her gasp made him look up and laugh, kind, before he bent his head. 

"Chris!" she cried out as he licked up her folds, slowly. He took it as encouragement, using his tongue to explore, discovering what made her keen and shake. Long fingers pressed inside her as he licked light and kittenish over her clit, Michael gasping loud into the quiet. He did _something_ with his tongue and pops of light exploded in her field of vision. Michael mewled and gasped, "_Right there_," bowled over by the pleasure that echoed through her. Chris backed off and laughed again, the rush of breath making her muscles tremble. 

He kept his mouth and tongue moving over her, relentless, his fingers thrusting into her slowly, more of a reminder than anything. Her body fluttered around them as he worked her, trembling as he slowly brought her closer to the edge. He was methodical, precise, finding every sensitive spot and making Michael whimper in pleasure, sweat breaking out all over her, so close—

"So close," she gasped, hand gripping the back of his neck, insistent. He _hmmed_ against her and Michael cried out, the new sensation vibrating through her. Then he _sucked_—

And a flare of light exploded behind Michael's eyes, her whole body tightening as her orgasm rocketed through her, pleasure reverberating outwards from his mouth, his fingers, skating up her spine, pulsing in her nipples, in her lips, at the base of her skull. 

She rode wave after wave, Chris stoking the ebb of it, the breath caught in her throat. Finally, it broke, Michael gasping noisily for air, suddenly back in her sweaty body, blood pounding in her ears, pleasure still firing across her synapses. 

The touch of Chris' mouth changed, gentled, bringing her down slowly. 

Michael's stomach muscles shook as he ran a soothing hand up her body, finally lifting his head, eyes gleaming at her. The faint traces of slickness on his mouth and chin made her brain short-circuit again, hot in a way she didn't understand.

"That what you wanted?" he said, so low it was almost a purr, and a shiver wracked her body, just from his _voice_. 

Michael used the hand she still had in his hair to _haul_ him toward her, Chris flashing a smile as he moved, their mouths crashing against each other. She could taste herself there—she didn't think she'd ever done that—and it shouldn't be hot except that it undeniably _was_. 

"Wanted this," she mumbled between kisses, wrapping her arms around him, feeling his weight pressing her down, sweat mingling between them. "All I could think about."

"You kept staring at me," he breathed back, nipping at her mouth, soothing his bites with tiny kisses. 

"You're _gorgeous_," she muttered, a defense, though she couldn't muster much defensiveness when he was showering her with kisses like he couldn't help himself. 

Chris pulled back, eyes soft, moving one hand to her cheek and pressing it there, gentle. "That's my line." Still soft, he leaned down to press their lips together, so light it was almost chaste. 

The movement shifted his body against hers...and _that_ wasn't soft or chaste. Michael _slammed_ back into her body, feeling him everywhere, his skin sliding against hers, his chest hair against her nipples, his erection snug against her thigh. 

Michael arched into him, rubbing shamelessly, eliciting a groan that woke up nerve endings _everywhere_. She didn't even know a sound could _do_ that. 

Chris backed off a little, his look half-quelling. Michael just smirked at him, unrepentant, and did it again, watching as his eyes fluttered closed, a shudder moving through him. She was unprepared for the sense of power that swept through her, the knowledge that _she_ could do this, strike the pride of Starfleet mute with pleasure. 

"Are we still doing what I want?" Michael asked, her voice gravelly. 

"Always," he said instantly, opening his eyes again, glassy with lust. 

Michael pressed her fingers to his mouth again, sighing when he sucked them in, his mouth wet and inviting. She pulled them away, trailing them down his chin to his chest, then moving lower, down his belly to wrap a hand around him, hard and straining against her.

Chris gasped, body vibrating, as Michael leaned up for his mouth and whispered, "I want you to come inside me," right before she kissed him. She squeezed her hand around him and stroked, _slowly_, feeling the silky skin shifting under her touch, catching Chris' gasp in her mouth. He moaned, a thing of beauty, and Michael kissed him harder, sucking on his tongue, sliding her hand down, then up again. 

His shaking hand found hers, stilling her movement as he pulled out of the kiss, some kind of desperate energy around his eyes. A breath, two, and he controlled himself, nodding slightly. "Anything you want," he agreed, breathless. He shifted position, Michael letting him spread her legs more, and there would be something obscene about it if it weren't for the downright reverent expression on his face, Chris looking at her like she was a miracle made flesh.

She reached for him again just as he positioned himself at her entrance, sinking in slowly, Michael's hands landing on his sides and digging in as her body lit up again. He filled her just right, the slick slide of him reminding her how long it had been since she'd done this. 

Chris paused, kissing her, breath hitching. She could feel his heart beating against hers, their sweat mingling. She was so _full_. 

Michael wrapped her legs around him, cradling his body against hers, making a satisfied noise against his mouth. _This_ was what she'd wanted, Chris pressing her down, inside her, half out of his mind. Just this. 

"Yeah," she breathed into his mouth, squeezing her internal walls around him, getting a groan. 

"You're going to kill me," he muttered.

"Not quite yet," she shot back, digging her heels into his ass, urging him on. 

Chris huffed a laugh and relented, thrusting into her, making Michael gasp as pleasure suffused everything. He set up a rhythm, adjusting the angle minutely with each thrust, one hand under her hip angling her. Michael just fell into it, marveling at the way her body tightened around him, heat already spiraling. 

The next time he thrust in, he hit a spot that shot lightning up her spine, Michael crying out, desperate. 

"There it is," Chris mumbled against her mouth before kissing her again and nailing that spot _every single time_. Michael clutched at his back, nails slipping in the sweat before digging in as the pleasure sharpened, her muscles shaking uncontrollably, body fluttering around him. Then it was fast and hot, Chris fucking into her expertly, pushing her higher. 

Shaky fingers at her clit tipped her over the edge, everything in Michael pulling tight as the orgasm swept through her, the rest of the world fading away in the face of the pleasure pulsing through her. 

When she came back to herself, she was panting, legs still locked around Chris, both of them sweaty and spent. He trembled against her, his skin glowing, and Michael realized she must have missed his orgasm. Regret flitted through her; she suspected she'd like seeing him lose control. 

Chris pulled himself together then, his eyes half-lidded with lust, but still present. He leaned down to kiss her, shaky, and Michael slid a hand into his hair again, losing herself in the slick slide of their mouths. 

Eventually, he started to soften inside her and Chris broke the kiss, sliding out of her with some kind of regretful noise. He landed at her side, legs still twined with hers, arm across her waist, warm and comforting. Michael pressed close, liking the feeling of his skin against hers, still a little amazed that they'd actually gotten here. 

She drifted, dimly feeling him press a kiss to her shoulder and get up, a low, "Be right back," settling her again. She thought she heard the water in the bathroom running, but couldn't be sure. 

Then he was back, pressing a warm, wet cloth between her legs. Michael shifted, realizing he was cleaning her up, something about that sending a flush through her, even as her brain was still muzzy and remote. 

Chris dropped the cloth somewhere, climbing back into bed and curling around her. He shifted them enough to pull the covers over them...and that was the last thing Michael knew. 

***

She woke up like that, Chris holding her close, their naked skin pressed together. She made a pleased noise, pressing back against him, Chris' arm tightening around her waist as he breathed in, waking. 

Michael shifted onto her back so she could look at him, still curled on his side, facing toward her. His eyes were sleepy, lips puffy, hair mussed. He looked like exactly what they'd been doing. 

The thought made her smile. 

Chris clocked it, pressing his fingers to the corner of her mouth, a kind of happiness around his eyes. It made something soft flutter in her chest. 

"So that wasn't a dream," he said, voice low. 

Michael shook her head, his fingers slipping to her jaw, stroking the thin skin there, making her shiver. 

"This was my wish," he said, oddly meditative, his fingers still moving over her skin rhythmically. "On that shooting star."

Michael raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking down to their naked bodies, intertwined under the sheets, then back up again, sending him a_ look_. 

He grinned, taking her meaning. "As brilliant as the sex was, not literally _this_," he clarified. Then he went thoughtful. "I wished it was real."

Michael startled, realizing she had, too. Of a sort. "So did I."

Chris pulled his hand back and shook his head a little, teasing. "Is that illogic, I hear?"

"You're a terrible influence," she said, dry. 

"I keep telling them."

Michael scoffed and Chris just smiled at her, delighted. He started to say something else—

And paused as a thought occurred to him. "God, Kat's gonna be insufferable."

Michael frowned, trying to figure out—

"You mean _Admiral Cornwell_?" she asked, uneasy now. "What does she have to do with—"

Michael broke off, Tilly's theory floating to the top of mind. "Please tell me she didn't have ulterior motives for assigning me to the mission."

Chris sighed. "You had the necessary skillset. But Kat's a psychiatrist. And she's known me a long time."

Michael digested that information, holding herself still, careful. "So this has been something...on your mind."

Chris brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, watching her, expression almost lost. "You've kept me up at night, Michael Burnham."

It was an admission, one that shivered through her, Michael suddenly realizing she wasn't alone in this helpless desire. 

Then she flushed, her mind going back to Cantara, the night she spent thinking of him. 

Chris made a pleased noise, pressing closer. "Well, now I want to know where your mind went." 

"You kept me up at night, too," she said, smiling a little. 

Chris' eyes narrowed, figuring it out. He looked at her slyly. "I think I want to hear about that," he said, shifting over her. 

"Oh, yeah?" she breathed, hands going to his skin, relishing the feel of him above her. 

"In detail," he murmured, leaning down to press his lips to her stomach. She shivered at the scratch of his stubble there. 

"It might take a while," she said, voice husky, one hand moving to card through his hair. 

He looked up at her, eyes bright. "Then it's a good thing I'm in charge."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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